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THE RIDDLE OF THE 
AMBER SHIP 


OTHER CLEEK BOOKS 

Cleek of Scotland Yard 
Cleek, the Man of Forty Faces 
Cleek, the Master Detective 
Cleek's Government Cases 
The Riddle of the Amber Ship 
The Riddle of the Frozen Flame 
The Riddle of the Mysterious Light 
The Riddle of the Night 
The Riddle of the Purple Emperor 
The Riddle of the Spinning Wheel 


i 

THE RIDDLE OF THE 
AMBER SHIP 

By 

Mary E. and Thomas W. Hanshew, 



GARDEN CITY NEW YORK 

DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY 
1924 










~R 




COPYRIGHT, 1924, BY 
BOUELEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY 

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES 
AT 

THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS, GARDEN CITY, N. Y 

First Edition 


APR 28’24 ^ 

©Cl A 7 02150 



CONTENTS 


HAPTER PAGE 

I. The History of The Amber Ship . . 1 

II. A Chinese Gentleman. 9 

III. The Beginning of the Drama ... 17 

IV. The Man with the Navvy’s Hands . 27 

V. A Second Intrusion.34 

VI. The Vanishing Trick.44 

VII. Failure.52 

VIII. What Happened at the Bookshop . 59 

IX. Brief, but of Much Importance . . 69 

X. A Gruesome Discovery.74 

XI. The “ Balankha-Dahs”.82 

XII. The Sign of Kali. 89 

XIII. “Sleeping Dogs 100 

XIV. Enter the Apaches. 110 

XV. The Man of the Forty Faces . . 118 

XVI. A Pair of Honeymooners .... 123 

XVII. Suspicions. 133 

XVIII. A Pair of Muddy Shoes. 146 


v 













Contents 


vi 


CHAPTER PAGE 


XIX. 

Four Letters. 


154 

XX. 

The Unseen Watcher . 


167 

XXI. 

Her Ladyship’s New Maid 


175 

XXII. 

Fiko, the Finder .... 


1831 

XXIII. 

A Visit to the Doctor’s . 


193 

XXIV. 

Enter Lady Brentwood 


203 

XXV. 

The Secret of the Bookshop 


210 

XXVI. 

On the Trail of the Balankha- 
Dahs. 

220 

XXVII. 

An Unwelcome Discovery 


225 

XXVIII. 

Pursuit. 


236 

XXIX. 

News at the Manor 


243 

XXX. 

What the Trunk Held 


253 

XXXI. 

The Inquest. 


262 

XXXII. 

Cleek Intervenes .... 


275 

XXXIII. 

The Telling of the Tale 

. 

284 

XXXIV. 

“Journey’s End-” 


300 













THE RIDDLE OF THE 
AMBER SHIP 






The Riddle of the Amber Ship 


CHAPTER I 

THE HISTORY OF THE AMBER SHIP 

I T WAS a day of spring sunshine, blue sky, sing¬ 
ing birds, and all the flowers of Kensington 
Gardens gave forth their glorious promise. 

Cleek, wandering at large down the curving paths 
cigarette in lip, hands in pockets, and restless blood 
stirred by that something which called soundlessly 
all about him, looked up at the sky, then down at the 
bursting flower-buds, and came to the conclusion 
that the world was indeed a very fine place to 
live in. 

There were, of course, children everywhere, for 
these are the spirit of Kensington Gardens embodied 
in that statue to the immortal Peter Pan who is 
their own particular god. 

A hurrying figure in the distance ahead of him was 
the only sign of restless humanity to disturb his 
serenity of outlook. Cleek sighed and shrugged his 
shoulders, and deliberately turned down an adjacent 
pathway. 


l 


g The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

‘‘I’m not encountering any speed this fine spring 
morning,” was the mental register of his mind, “so 
I’ll avoid it in the way of all flesh, and take another 
direction.” 

But the sound of the hurrying footsteps grew near 
and nearer, and an innate something made him turn 
his head and look back down the avenue of trees that 
shrouded the blue bowl of the sky. Every faculty 
came to attention at once. He hurried toward the 
speeding figure, and called a sharp, “What’s up?” 

The figure stopped, pounded its chest with the flat 
of one hand, and said breathlessly, “You’re wanted! 
Superintendent on the line. Come at once, sir. 
It’s the Yard, sir! And urgent!” 

“Oh, confound the Yard and all concerning it!” 
responded Cleek. “When is a man to get a little 
peace, I’d like to know—with the blessed Yard reach¬ 
ing out its tentacles for him in every direction! All 
right, Dollops, I’m coming. What made you choose 
Kensington Gardens, though?” 

Dollops gave a respectful, if sly, wink. 

“Got yer checked cap on, sir, and a soft collar,” 
he returned; “an’ when them garmings are donned, 
I’m fer knowin’ that Kensington Gardings is ’avin’ 
its innings, and the kids’ll be keepin’ you busy.” 

“Well, you’re a detective and no mistake!” 
Cleek’s laugh rang out. “We’d better be getting 
straight back. JMr. Narkom’s worried, you say? 
Give any notion of the trouble?” 




The History of the Amber Ship S 

“None, sir. Only arsked me ter find yer and 
fetch yer to ’im at once. Call a taxi, shall I?” 

“Yes, Dollops. And be sure it’s an open one.” 

Dollops was off like a shot, and Cleek, all the in¬ 
ertia of the spring morning gone, was not so far be¬ 
hind him, so that as the taxi drew up at the curb and 
the door flew open under Dollops’s fingers, Cleek was 
inside in the winking of an eye, and off and away to 
the Yard’s call and the Yard’s business, which, after 
all, was principally his business, too. 

He found the superintendent—a little stouter in 
figure from the increasing girth which the years were 
adding to him—seated, as was his wont, at his office 
desk, coat off, head in hands, and an expression of 
worried anxiety upon his kindly countenance. He 
looked up as Cleek entered, tossing his cap on a 
chair, and waved his hand to a seat near by. 

“Dollops caught you, then? Well, we’re in it up 
to the neck, old boy! Want your help badly.” 

“Well, it’s something to know that you’re wanted 
somewhere,” responded Cleek with a smile. “What’s 
worrying you this fine spring morning? Gad, Mr. 
Narkom! the tulips are a sight in the Gardens. 
Glorious tints.” 

“Oh, tints be damned!” the superintendent, 
usually so conservative, broke forth indignantly. 
“I’ve no time for flowers, my friend! There’s the 
dickens of a case on hand, and-” 

“Chinese, eh?” 


4 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

“What? Now how the dickens did you know?” 

Cleek laughed and tapped a map on the desk with 
his finger. 

“Used my eyes, old friend. Map of China, and an 
envelope with a Chinese stamp on it, and you look¬ 
ing like a fat old idol yourself! But let’s hear it, 
Mr. Narkom, and see where we stand.” 

“All right. Here it is. You know we’ve been 
worried over this trafficking in opium that’s been 
going on right under our very noses, so to speak, 
and the inscrutable Chink looking as innocent as 
last year’s hat? Well, we’ve had added police sur¬ 
veillance at every port in the country, and even that 
doesn’t stop the beggars! Comes in just the same. 
Chief and I had been discussing a special appeal to 
the Chinese Government itself, and then on the top 
of this comes a letter from the governor of Kwang- 
Tin—one of the big provinces, you know—saying he’s 
sending his son, Tsi-Kling, over here for tutoring in 
English and for medical attention (growing too 
quickly, so he says), and he wants our special super¬ 
vision for the boy, seeing that there have been sev¬ 
eral attempts upon his own life.” 

“Why?” 

“Oh, the usual Oriental notions, you know— 
utterly un-understandable to the Western mind. 
Don’t like his politics, I expect.” 

Cleek stirred in his chair with a slight sign of dis¬ 
interest. “Well, there’s nothing in that, so far. 


5 


The History of the Amber Ship 

my friend, to cause all this energetic anxiety,” he 
said, with a touch of tartness in his tone. “And to 
take me away from the tulips on a morning like this!” 

“Oh, blow your tulips, and listen!” retorted the 
superintendent angrily. “I don’t mean to lose my 
temper, Cleek, but when a man with a brain like 
yours starts going potty over flowers, it puts me all 
on edge. Ever heard of the Amber Shipp” 

Cleek paused abruptly in the act of lighting a cig¬ 
arette. His eyes narrowed in alert interest. “Righto!” 
he cried with some vehemence. “I suppose, at the 
bottom, then, it’s the Amber Ship that’s causing 
all your perturbation, eh?” 

“What do you know about the Amber Ship?” 

“Just as much as any man who calls himself an 
expert on the world’s historical jewels. Don’t for¬ 
get that past of mine, you know. There were times 
when the Amber Ship tempted my insatiable appetite 
for sensations. Belonged to Confucius—or so the 
the story goes.” 

Mr. Narkom whistled. 

“Gad, if you’re not the most amazing beggar! 
Ever seen it?” 

There was a sparkle of reminiscence in Cleek’s eye. 
He gave a short, sharp laugh. “Once. And nearly 
held it in my hands, too—only I set a higher valua¬ 
tion on my useless life than what might be got for it 
after a Chink’s knife had done its work. Yes, I’ve 
seen it. A huge lump of clear amber, cut and 


6 The Riddle of the Amber Shiv 

carved and most intricately wrought into the shape 
of a ship—a Chinese junk, and with a mosaic pattern 
on ship and sails of rubies, diamonds, and emeralds, 
and the waves of the water at the prow realistically 
carried out in one huge cut sapphire. Yes, I’ve seen 
it! Every jewel thief the world over has seen it—or 
heard of it—but none of them has set finger upon it 
to my knowledge.” 

“Then you know the governor and all about him?” 

“Hardly that, but I know of his very honourable 
and ancient family. The Amber Ship belonged 
originally to Kwei-Fung-Li, and it is, by the way, the 
insignia of a very powerful Chinese secret society, 
vesting its owner with unlimited powers in all matters 
Chinese. Kwei-Fung-Li ruled in the 16th century— 
a very august, and devilish, and glorious mandarin. 
Then his son, Ching-Fung-Li, got it, and held it in 
spite of a petty revolution that sent him into hasty 
exile. After that, history doesn’t record its progress 
until it springs up in the end of the 17th century, 
when the line once more returned to its original 
power. And now it has fallen into the present 
governor’s hands, eh? What sort of a man is he, 
do you know?” 

Mr. Narkom shook his head. All through Cleek’s 
brief history of the province he had sat restless and 
uninterested, and anxious to get on to what were to 
him more momentous matters. 

“No, I don’t. Only that the son has the jewel; 


7 


The History of the Amber Ship 

he is keen on jewels, I believe, and has made a hobby 
of them. Jewel-encrusted books, and even old 
manuscripts—all sorts of odd things the boy col¬ 
lects. Because of his taste in this direction, his 
father has handed over to him the trust of the 
Amber Ship; and he’s bringing it over here along with 
the rest of his collection.” 

“ Whew!” Cleek sprang to his feet and took a pace 
up and down the long room, to the window and back. 
“Now I know the reason of all the commotion! 
Every jewel thief in Europe will be ready for the lad 
and his booty. When does he arrive?” 

“To-day” 

“ To-day ! At what hour and where?” 

Mr. Narkom drew out his watch. The lines of 
anxiety upon his face deepened. He passed a weary 
hand over his brow. 

“At exactly twelve fifty-eight at Waterloo Sta¬ 
tion,” he returned, with a dejected mien, “where he 
is to be met by the Yard’s men and conducted to 
Upminster and the care of his new tutor—Octavius 
Spender, who lives in the House on the Hill.” 

Cleek struck his hands together. 

“Upminster? Now, why the dickens should they 
send him to a hole-in-the-corner place like that? 
Well, here is The Yard’s men’ who are going to 
meet him!” he said with a bow. “I’ve just about 
time to make it nicely, and snoop about a bit be¬ 
forehand. I’d go a pretty good distance to get a 


8 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

glimpse of the Amber Ship, Mr. Narkom, and the 
Chinese gentleman is a person for whom I have both 
the profoundest admiration and respect. Who’s 
this chap, Spender, who is to have charge of the 
prince?” 

“You’re one of the best, Cleek. That was ex¬ 
actly what I wanted of you, and now my mind’s at 
rest. Spender, you say? Oh, he’s an old recluse 
chap who used to be one of the best-known dons at 
Oxford. I don’t remember his college for the mo¬ 
ment, but he’s an authority on all matters Chinese. 
Has the care of Chinese boys who are sent over for 
education in England. Used to ’em all his life. 
Lived out there for some years, I fancy, which ac¬ 
counts for the governor’s choice.” 

“And how old is the lad?” 

“Sixteen. Seventeen in October, I believe.” 

“H’m. Rather young to be entrusted with the 
care of so precious a possession as the Amber Ship,” 
put in Cleek thoughtfully. “And yet, with Chinese 
boys you never know. They have the wisdom of 
the ages at fourteen. But sixteen—and the Amber 
Ship! We’ve a busy time ahead, Mr. Narkom, I 
can promise you!” 

But how busy that time was to be even Cleek— 
used as he was to these adventurous exploits that 
were to him the very breath of life itself—even he 
never for one moment conceived. 


CHAPTER II 


A CHINESE GENTLEMAN 

I T WAS a mere matter of twenty minutes later 
when a knock upon the door of Mr. Narkom’s 
office at Scotland Yard elicited a sharp, “Come 
in.” The door opened slowly, and the superintend¬ 
ent glanced up with a suspicion of sharpness. Then 
he sprang to his feet at the sight of a Chinese 
countenance, inscrutable as a mask, and topped 
with one of the round hats worn by men of this 
nationality, peeping at him with something of 
furtiveness. 

“What the dickens-! Who admitted you, I’d 

like to know? And—come in!” he ejaculated, whisk¬ 
ing over to the door and throwing it wide open. 
“What is your business, please? And why, may I ask 
in all politeness, didn’t you acquaint the constable in 
charge of the gates with it? I can’t think how you 
got through unaccompanied; slackness again, I sup¬ 
pose! Sit down, sit down.” 

The Chinese gentleman, with a courtly bow, 
entered the room, hands muffled in sleeves, and sat 
down opposite a puzzled superintendent who watched 
him with frowning brows. 


9 


10 


The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

“If you would be as brief as you can-” 

“I will be brief, exceedingly so,” responded the 
Chinese gentleman in perfect English, and with a 
little laugh which rang familiar to the superin¬ 
tendent’s ears. 

“Gad! What the-! Not Cleek, surely?” 

“Yes. Cleek, surely. Took you in well, didn’t 
I? And your eyes have been peeled enough to my 
disguises, haven’t they, old friend? Well, then, the 
case is proved. I can face the members of the young 
prince’s suite without further anxiety. I admit I 
think the make-up quite good. But the Chinese are 
penetrating. Lately I’ve been making a study of 
them out Limehouse way. I’ve used this disguise 
successfully many times. But education lends 
sharpness of vision. It wouldn’t do for me to fail this 
time, now, would it? Honestly, old fellow, you 
think I’ll pass?” 

Mr. Narkom gave out a gasp of astonishment. 
“Pass? Cinnamon! Cleek, Hammond was in for 
the very dickens of a row for letting you through 
without an escort! I’ll swear you took me clean in. 
A perfect Chink! How you do it I don’t know. 
And what’s your plan?” 

“To ingratiate myself with the prince’s suite, and 
get myself in some way connected with them, if 
possible. And, by the way, old friend. I’ll make 
myself responsible for the boy’s safety from now 
on. You might acquaint the chief with that knowl- 



A Chinese Gentleman 


11 


edge, will you? It may set his mind at ease, I 
flatter myself. Now I’m off. And wish me the 
best of luck.” 

Then he rose, muffled his arms once more in the 
wide sleeves, and, bowing low, shuffled across the 
floor and out of the door. 

But Mr. Narkom ran after him. “Here, I say!” 
he called in a breathless voice. “Not so fast, my 
man. I’m coming with you! This other dashed 
business can wait, but I’d give my breakfast to have a 
glimpse of you making up to the other Chinks! 

I’ll fetch the car, and then- Now, who in the 

name of fortune is this?" 

“This” was a darting, running figure which 
doubled round a turn in the stairway and arrived in 
Mr. Narkom’s room in a breathless condition and 
with an anxious face. 

“Mr. Narkom, sir!” gasped out Dollops excitedly 
—for it was he. “Seen the Gov’nor, sir? I ex¬ 
pected of ’im back these larst ten minutes or so, and 
never a sight nor a sign of ’im ’ave I seen! And 
I’m that worrited, wot with all them Maurevanian 
and Apache troubles ’e’s ’ad to face, I’m keepin’ a 
sharp look-out on ’im, I am! And now ’e’s gorn, 
gorn!" 

“Not far,” put in Cleek softly, turning upon the 
lad, who gasped at him in wonderment. “Just as 
far as the make-up room here at the Yard, my boy, 
and no farther. But you’d better come along with 


12 


The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

us now. We’re off to Waterloo to meet a Chinese 
princeling, and I may be requiring your services.” 

“Guv’nor, Mr. Cleek! Well, if you ain’t the 
very dickens of a gen’leman! An’ me scared clean 
orf me bit er lunch, too! ’Course I’ll come. Fetch 
Lennard for you, sir, shall I?” turning to Mr. Narkom. 

“Well, you might give him his orders to be round 
with the car in three minutes,” responded the 
superintendent. “But you won’t find Lennard. 
He’s off duty for a couple of days. Hampden is 
taking his place. Just wait a minute, Cleek, while 
I fetch my hat, and I’ll join you.” 

Five minutes later they were all three packed in 
the closed car—Cleek and Mr. Narkom inside, 
and Dollops up beside Hampden, and Waterloo 
station was a matter of only a brief time more, during 
which period Cleek kept his eyes upon the window, 
noting, as they neared the station, the number of 
Chinese faces that mingled with the English ones 
in the crowds approaching it. As the car came to a 
standstill outside, Cleek turned to his companion. 

“That’s the twentieth Chinese I’ve counted in this 
ride, and all heading toward Waterloo,” he said 
quietly. “Our task is increasing in magnitude. 
The Amber Ship is the ‘draw.’ Well, I’ll make one 
more. I’ll slip out behind you, and when the train 
arrives it’ll be up to you to present your credentials 
and take our young charge in tow.” 

“Right.” 


A Chinese Gentleman 


13 


Mr. Narkom opened the door of the limousine and 
stepped out. The Chinese gentleman followed, bow¬ 
ing lowly to his English confrere, and the two made 
their way through the crowds and on to the platform. 

The train came in almost immediately. There 
were the usual bustle of noise and commotion, the 
usual calling for porters, banging of doors, clatter of 
luggage. Then the door of a first-class carriage 
opened, emitting three Chinese gentlemen on to the 
platform, who lined up either side of it, and as Mr. 
Narkom approached (Cleek dropping back into the 
crowd unobtrusively), the young princeling stepped 
out. 

He was a slim lad, but with a something in his 
bearing which bore mute witness to the line of dis¬ 
tinguished ancestors who had given him birth. He 
did not wear the European costume, which was singu¬ 
lar, in that most Chinese gentlemen, unless upon 
state occasions, don it when travelling in a European 
country. His coat, however, was of dark-blue 
satin, heavily embroidered in black with a touch of 
silver. His hat, the round pill-box shape, set 
straight over arched brows, but bearing a red but¬ 
ton a-top instead of the customary black one, and 
round his neck one glimpsed what might be a steel 
chain of exquisite workmanship and strength. At 
the end of it something had been tucked into the 
fastenings of his coat. 

The three members of his suite bowed low. Mr. 


14 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

Narkom approached one of them. Cleek could see 
them in quiet conversation, then there was an ex¬ 
change of papers, and Mr. Narkom was waved 
toward the still figure of the young princeling. He 
saw the superintendent, bowing in his awkward 
fashion, extend his hand. 

Another brief conclave ensued. Cleek noted that 
the lad looked pale, even for one of his race, and his 
eyes travelled over the platform with something of 
boyish anxiety. Then the entourage moved forward, 
the superintendent and the boy side by side, and 
one of the members of the suite close upon his heels. 
The others had vanished, presumably to attend to 
such minor matters as luggage and porters. But as 
they passed down the platform toward the gates, 
several other Chinese, among whom Cleek had 
stationed himself, pressed forward in the crowd out¬ 
side. At sight of the steel chain about the lad’s 
neck they dropped back as he passed through the 
barrier, and made deep and reverential obeisance. 

That was Cleek’s cue to do the vanishing trick 
once more. He caught the sound of Mr. Narkom’s 
voice politely suggesting black coffee in the waiting 
room before proceeding with the journey (all of which 
had been arranged by Cleek in the drive to the sta¬ 
tion) and slipped away to the limousine, there to 
change quickly. While Hampden drove round a 
back street at an easy pace, he donned his tweed 
suit once more, and then was back to the station, out 


A Chinese Gentleman 15 

of the car, and into the waiting room as speedily 
and expeditiously as possible. 

But he did not reach that same waiting room quite 
as rapidly as he had expected. For, passing through 
the crowded outer platform, Cleek’s quick eyes 
caught sight of the Chinese servant, who had re¬ 
mained behind his young master, talking to an old 
stoop-shouldered gentleman at the left-hand side of 
the waiting-room door, and out of sight of the oc¬ 
cupants within. The conversation was obviously 
an earnest one, and the impassive Chinese nodded 
several times, and bowed even more. 

“Oho!” thought Cleek, making a mental register 
of the old man’s appearance for future reference. 
“What does all this mean, I’d like to know? And 
why do they keep so carefully out of sight of the 
young princeling and my old friend? I’d give a 
dollar to know the gist of their conversation.” 

But if that same conversation were to go down to 
posterity, Cleek’s ears were not those destined to 
receive it. For even as he moved quietly forward, 
the Chinese laid a quick hand upon the old gentle¬ 
man’s arm, bowed his farewell, and slipped back 
to the waiting room and his charge once more. 

“Notgoing to let that old blighter give us the slip!” 
thought Cleek as he eyed the little groups of travel¬ 
lers standing about for a sight of his henchman. 
“Ah! there’s Dollops!” He gave a low whistle, and 
the youth turned in his tracks, looking quickly about 


16 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

him, and, seeing his master, came instantly in his 
direction. 

“Keep that old johnny in sight, don’t lose touch 
with him, and report to me to-night!” ordered his 
master sharply. Then, as Dollops made off in his 
quarry’s direction, Cleek turned toward the waiting 
room, where he was to take over the charge of the 
young princeling and permit Mr. Narkom to return 
to his duties at Scotland Yard. 


CHAPTER III 


THE BEGINNING OF THE DRAMA 

C LEEK found them seated at a table in the far 
corner of the room, and being served by a 
waitress whose sharp eyes were all agog 
with the peculiarity of at least one of her charges. 
Cleek noted this fact with a slight frown. The boy 
would be naturally uncomfortable under her pert 
gaze; but, on sight of the young prince, he decided 
that the boy was not. 

For the princeling looked decidedly drowsy, in 
spite of the cup of black coffee, extra strong, ordered 
by the superintendent a short while back. His 
attendant, obviously a Chinese body-servant, 
watched him with inscrutable and somewhat anxious 
eyes. 

“H ’m!” thought Cleek, mentally taking stock of 
the little group as he approached the table. “Looks 
as though the boy had been drugged. Probably been 
smoking opium, or something of the sort. Can 
hardly keep his eyes open, poor little beggar! Well, 
I’ll see that no fingers are laid upon him outside my 
knowledge, anyway.” 

With that he approached Mr. Narkom, bowed all 
[17 


18 


The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

round and, seating himself, ordered a pot of tea, 
Mr. Narkom presenting him to the drowsy boy. 

“This gentleman is to have charge of you during 
your journey to Upminster, Your Highness,” he 
said with some show of pomposity, rather pleased 
with himself at being in such obviously illustrious 
company. 

The boy nodded. “Thank you. I see.” 

Then he lapsed once more into silence, narrow eyes 
half-shut, whole body slackened and loose in the 
straight chair he sat in. Cleek turned to the servant. 

“Been smoking ‘a pipe’, I take it?” he said, with a 
significant nod in the lad’s direction. The man 
turned his head this way and that, lifting his im¬ 
passive brows as though he were not quite sure of 
what this “illustrious master” was saying. 

“Me no speakee the Eengleesh,” he said at last in 
pidgin English. “Young master he sleepy, yes? 
Velly drowsy allee journee. Glad get to ancient 
master’s house. Velly tired.” 

“H’m! Yes, he seems so,” responded Cleek with 
a quick look at the man who, although he did not 
speak English, yet understood it enough to follow 
his meaning and reply. “Well, when we’re all 
finished we’d best be off. This tea isn’t worth 
waiting for, anyhow. One cup’s enough. How 
about you, Mr. Narkom?” 

“My dear Cl-my dear chap, I’m ready when 

you are,” responded the superintendent with alacrity. 


19 


The Beginning of the Drama 

getting to his feet and reaching for his coat and hat, 
which hung on a peg not far behind him. “I’ve 
work to do at the Yard, and none too much time to 
do it in, either. Just see you all into the car, and 
then I’ll make tracks. That suit you?” 

“Admirably.” Cleek rose, too, took up his hat 
and stick, and then set them down again as he leant 
toward the half-sleeping boy. His eyes met Mr. 
Narkom’s across the narrow table, with an unmis¬ 
takable message. “By the way,” said he a trifle 
off-handedly, “if any letters come to your home 
address for me, you might send them on to my digs, 
will you? And don’t make the same mistake over 
the initial as you did before, that’s a good fellow!” 

“Eh—initial?” Amazement sounded in Mr. 
Narkom’s voice. A look from Cleek silenced him. 

“Yes. Last time I got a bundle in an envelope 
which your wife addressed as ‘C. Y. Carstairs,’ in¬ 
stead of ‘C. H. Carstairs.’ I’m rather touchy, you 
know. Cecil Herbert Carstairs, that’s my name. 
Try to remember it, there’s a good chap.” 

Mr. Narkom nodded, and winked. 

“All right. I’ll try. Cecil Herbert Carstairs. 
Herbert Carstairs. Fancy her making that mistake! 
I’ll send ’em on if any come. But since your last 
visit I entered the name with the post office at once. 
Well, we’d better be trotting. Now, Your Highness, 
if you’ll just make an effort—I know you’re tired and 
all that, but it’s only as far as the taxi, and you can 


20 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

sleep there as long as you like. Come along, I beg of 
you.” 

The young prince, thus admonished, lifted lacka¬ 
daisical eyes to the superintendent’s jolly red face, 
and then, seeing him standing there in overcoat and 
hat, struggled to his feet. His servant was beside 
him at once, proffering the long black overcoat of 
European design which Cleek had noted hung over 
his arm. A look of real devotion was in the man’s 
face. His eyes met Cleek’s with an anxious expres¬ 
sion. 

“Velly cold in thisee countly. Velly cold in 
taxis. Best keepee warm, Mister.” 

“Quite right. And I don’t know your name,” 
answered Cleek, with a smile for the man’s thought¬ 
fulness. 

“Ah Sing.” 

“Well, Ah Sing, we’ll get your young master down 
to his house as quickly as possible, where a good 
night’s rest will soon put him right. He’s dazed 
with travelling, that’s what it is. Here, you take 
one arm, and I’ll take the other. We don’t want 
him dropping in his tracks from fatigue. Got him? 
That’s right.” 

Then away they went out of the waiting room to 
where in the yard outside the big blue limousine 
awaited them, and with a hasty handshake for Mr. 
Narkom, Cleek bundled his charge inside, tucked his 
feet up on the wide seat, and then, pulling out the 


The Beginning of the Drama 21 

smaller seats, motioned Ah Sing to one of them and 
himself took the other. 

The Chinaman would doubtless have preferred to 
sit beside his young master, but Cleek was having 
none of that. Until the boy arrived at the house and 
was handed over into the hands of the man awaiting 
him, he, Cleek, was the only human being who should 
have direct and prolonged contact with the prince’s 
person. And a journey of three hours seated be¬ 
side him, with the Amber Ship strung about his 
slender neck, might work more than marvels—in 
Chinese hands. 

His fingers felt for his hip pocket and reassured 
themselves of its contents. For a man of his calling 
a revolver was an everyday necessity. And in a 
case of this kind—one never knew. 

As the car moved slowly out of the crowded station 
yard Cleek’s thoughts harked back to those other 
days when he, too, might have been one of those in 
wait for an opportunity of seizing the precious jewel, 
knowing there was a safe sale for it to many of the 
priestcraft of that particular order to which it be¬ 
longed, who would be highly incensed at its journey 
to England on the person of a young stripling of 
sixteen summers. Yes, there would be a long purse 
as a reward, but a devil of a lot of danger in its 
acquisition. 

He sighed once or twice as a man who sees action 
and—born of a race of dare-devil soldiers—desires 


22 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

it with every fibre of his being. Then he smiled to 
himself in the half-dusk of the moving car. 

“Heigh-ho!” said he under his breath, “but 
there’ll be danger enough in the guarding of it, with¬ 
out doubt, to keep the heart young and the spirit 
alive! Hampden’s making good time. We should 
be there inside the limit. How that boy sleeps!” 

And sleep he certainly did; he might have been 
dead for all the movement he made. In the semi¬ 
dark the scarcely perceptible lift and fall of the boyish 
breast under the thick jacket was practically indis¬ 
cernible. Cleek leaned forward and scrutinized the 
pallid features. Then he turned to Ah Sing. 

“Delicate, ^h?” he said, with a nod toward his 
sleeping master. “Often ill? Sick, unwell?” 

“Velly often sick, him little master,” returned 
Ah Sing, with a shake of the head. “Velly thlin. 
Him not eatee enough. Velly stlong in the head, 
though. Wanted come to England. Would come. 
Noble father no good. Illustrious mother no good. 
Him come. Here he is.” 

The telegraphic qualities of Ah Sing’s conversation 
brought an involuntary smile to Cleek’s lips. Ah 
Sing had the Chinaman’s quick discernment and 
could express himself, even in such meagre language 
at his command, extraordinarily lucidly. He rather 
liked Ah Sing. Somewhere, probably, about thirty, 
as far as he could make out, but with the wisdom of a 
century shining in his narrow Oriental eyes. A 


23 


The Beginning of the Drama 

shrewd, kindly fellow, devoted to his young master. 
That was how Cleek categoried him as the car ate 
up the miles to Upminster, whirling them through 
crowded town and peaceful countryside with equal 
speed and efficiency. 

Indeed, it made such good time that the three 
hours were barely up when they swung into a 
narrow country lane, tree-avenued and shady, and 
with no sign of habitation or living thing to be dis¬ 
cerned. 

The early twilight was gathering, shrouding the 
world in its veil of gray, and the interior of the motor 
was almost dark, so much so, in fact, that Cleek 
could barely discern his charge’s white, immobile 
face in the shadows. Long ago he had ceased con¬ 
versation with the Chinaman who sat beside him. 
One cannot keep up a one-sided talk with a deaf- 
mute, and so the man began to appear as time went 
on, so that Cleek had passed most of the moments 
glancing now and again at the sleeping figure of the 
young prince, and more often out of the window at 
the swiftly moving landscape that sped by. Who 
knew whether the car might be stopped at some 
given point? Who knew, in fact, anything of what 
the immediate future would hold? 

Of a sudden, through the tree-shrouded gathering 
dusk, he caught a glimpse of a house half-hidden 
in the shadows and appearing inexpressibly drear 
at first sight. He felt the car swerve as Hampden 


24 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

sent it rocketing through iron gates and up a curv¬ 
ing driveway. 

Cleek got up and put his head out of the window. 
There wasn’t a light in the place anywhere! From 
end to end the old gray house was one with the 
shadows that claimed it. Not a glimmer showed 
through the barred windows; not a sound of life 
stirred. 

Cleek glanced anxiously at the sleeping boy. 
Either he had arrived earlier than was expected, or 
plans had altered themselves to circumstance. 
But what circumstance? 

He touched Ah Sing upon the arm as the car came 
to a standstill, and Hampden sprang out and threw 
open the door. 

“Better get out and investigate,” he told the 
Chinaman briefly. “I’m on orders and can’t leave 
the prince. But something’s undoubtedly wrong. 
Hardly what one would call a good old English wel¬ 
come, eh, Hampden?” 

“No, sir. Not as we knows one, sir.” 

The big broad-shouldered chauffeur glanced back 
over his shoulder and pulled a wry face. Ah Sing 
was out of the motor in a moment. Cleek saw his 
anxious face as his eyes were raised to the darkened 
building, and came to the conclusion that this 
man, at any rate, was to be trusted in his devotion 
to his charge. The young prince slept on. Inky 
darkness or eternity were all the same to him in the 


25 


The Beginning of the Drama 

land of distorted visions in which he was wandering. 
Cleek, sitting beside him, itched to be up and doing. 
The very darkness mystified and enticed him to look 
into things. But the young princeling was his first 
duty. With a sigh, Cleek relinquished himself to 
the task of watching, while Hampden began tinker¬ 
ing with the engine of the car and Ah Sing, coming 
back suddenly upon silent feet, poked his head into 
the opened window and raised frightened eyes to 
Cleek’s face. 

“Me no likee look of thiings!” he said in his 
telegraphic way. “Flont door no open. Better 
tly window, savee?” 

“Certainly. If you can manage to unlock one of 
’em,” responded Cleek with a nod. “Hampden, 
give this chap a hand to climb in through that lower 
window there. It’s high enough off the ground, at 
all events, and you can get him on to your shoulders. 
If I didn’t have to sit here like an old woman-” 

The two made off, and Cleek could barely discern 
their shapes in the gathering gloom. Straining his 
eyes, he saw Ah Sing mount the chauffeur’s huge 
shoulders, heard a slight click, and then saw Hamp¬ 
den straighten himself as the weight vanished. He 
knew Ah Sing was inside the lonely house, doing his 
duty for the young prince he loved. 

He sat back against the cushions of the car with 
a sigh, and turned his gaze to the sleeping boy. 
Drugged, undoubtedly. But why? Perhaps to give 


26 


The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

previous access to the house before their arrival, or to 
waylay their car upon the road. But that hadn’t 
been done. And there had been only one main road 
from London to this remote little village, and no 
other car had passed them on the way. How was 
Ah Sing getting along, he wondered? From the 
slight tapping sound, he knew that Hampden was 
back again, tinkering with his engine. 

Cleek stretched himself in the narrow confines of 
the car, and yawned. This sitting still was getting 
upon his nerves, and so were the stillness, and the 
dark, and the sleeping princeling with his immobile 
Chinese features. There was something uncanny 
in the whole situation. And —what was that ? 

To Cleek’s trained ears, sharpened to every noise, 
however distant, came the unmistakable sound of a 
muffled shot. 


CHAPTER IV 

THE MAN WITH THE NAVVY’S HANDS 

H E WAS on his feet in an instant, every faculty 
alert, his revolver whisked out and cocked 
in readiness in one hand. He turned the 
handle of the door and stepped out cautiously. 
Hampden was still tinkering at the car. Cleek 
beckoned him with a quick gesture. 

“Didn’t you hear that?” he rapped out. “Where 
are your ears, man? I’ll swear that was a shot!” 
The chauffeur gave a little respectful laugh. 

“Not if I knows one, sir,” he replied with a shake 
of the head. “Only that there sparkplug. Went 
orf all of a sudden like—never ’eard nothink else. 
I fancy that’s what it was, sir. But I see as you’re 
all ready with the back-chat.” 

He glanced down at the little revolver held in 
Cleek’s right hand. That gentleman laughed, and 
replaced it. 

“Well,” said he, glancing back into the shadows 
of the car at the sleeping boy, to make sure all was 
well with him, “I certainly thought differently on 
the matter! However, no doubt you’re right. I 
hope so. Hello! There’s a light at last. Ah Sing 

27 


28 


The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

has managed something, at any rate, and there’s 
the front door open. Just nip up and see if every¬ 
thing’s O. K.!” 

But there was no necessity for this last action, for 
even as the big door rattled open, a stooping Chinese 
figure came out of the half-shadows, and shambled 
silently toward the car, bowing to Cleek. 

“Me sollee some mistakee. Ancient mastler not 
home from station yet. Been meet young Excel¬ 
lency. Me savee light. Me sleep. No hear motor 
till Chinee serving-man touchee on shoulder. Me 
velly solly.” 

Cleek shrugged his shoulders impatiently. “I 
should think so, indeed!” he said sharply. “Keep¬ 
ing the prince waiting like that. And where the 

devil is your master, anyway? I-Hello, here’s 

another car, Hampden. Hear her turn? She’s 
coming up this driveway now. Taxi, too. No 
doubt this is your worthy, if belated, master, my 
Chinese friend. Well, I’ll just carry the young 
gentleman in and put him down somewhere, and 
you can tell your master to hurry, please.” 

So saying, he reached in, caught the boy’s slim 
figure in his arms, and walked with him through the 
open doorway into the lit hall, from the walls of 
which flashed out a wondrous collection of Chinese 
implements of war, the brilliant electric light picking 
out each blade like a point of fire. 

The servant led the way, opened a door into a sort 


The Man with the Navvy's Hands 29 

of shabby Oriental study, and hastily withdrew. 
Cleek dropped his charge carefully on a long, low 
divan filled with soiled cushions in every variety of 
colour and design. The boy stirred in his sleep for 
a moment, and then lapsed back into unconscious¬ 
ness. 

“It’ll take twenty-four hours before that little 
chap knows where he is. I’ll swear,” mentally reg¬ 
istered Cleek, standing before the empty grate, 
with his hands behind him and his fingers flapping his 
coat-tails. “Hum. Very Oriental in his tastes is 
this gentleman, I take it. No doubt the result of 
living so long in China. Here he comes now. I 
wonder what the dickens kept him so late, and why 
he wasn’t at the station to meet the train? Well, 
we shall soon know.” 

He did. For just at that instant the door opened 
once more, and a stooping old man, with an oddly 
lined countenance, entered the room and came 
toward him with outstretched hand. Cleek remarked 
him at once. It was the same old gentleman whom 
he had seen in London talking with the Chinese 
servant outside the waiting-room window. Well, 
no doubt he was arranging something personally for 
the boy, else why should he turn up again like this? 
But he must have followed directly upon their own 
departure. And if so, why not have joinedj their 
party? An odd old man, certainly. 

“Pleased to meet you, I’m sure,” said the old 


30 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

gentleman, with a courtly bow as Cleek took his 
outstretched hand. “I must tender my most humble 
apologies for being so lafe. The fact of the matter 
is that I reached the station just as the train came in, 
and was detained there by one of the members of 
the staff of the legation here in England. You wish 
my credentials, of course. Here they are. 

“My friend, the governor, this young man’s 
illustrious father, was at school with me in my 
younger days, here in England. This is a letter 
from him, written to show proper credentials that I 
am Octavius Spender. I beg of you to read it. I 
always promised him, if ever his son came over to 
England, to take charge of the boy and be personally 
responsible for his safety. The governor rendered 
me a great service while I was in China—a matter of 
governmental affairs with which I will not bore you 
—but it has been a great pleasure to feel I can in some 
way repay him in the safe care and keeping of his 
only son.” 

After this lengthy speech, spoken in a low, edu¬ 
cated voice and with the courtly manners of one of 
the old school, Mr. Octavius Spender crossed over to 
the couch and laid a shaky hand upon the sleeping 
boy’s head. 

Cleek read the letter through, saw the signature 
of the young prince’s father and compared it with 
that which he had taken from Scotland Yard, as 
instructed by Mr. Narkom, and then turned toward 


The Man with the Navvy's Hands 31 

his host. Obviously everything was as it should be, 
after all. The explanation was perfectly plausible, 
yet there was a creepy sort of feeling in the back of 
his mind that he had not done with this affair yet. 

“Well, Mr. Spender,” said he, crossing over to the 
old gentleman’s side, “your responsibility is great. 
The very possession of the sacred stone which that 
boy carries on his person is more than any man ought 
to stand under. You know of its arrival, of course?” 

Mr. Spender bowed. 

“Yes. In the days of my youth I saw the Amber 
Ship at my friend’s palace. The mere fact that he 
has entrusted both his boy and his most precious 
jewel in my care speaks of a trust which honours me, 
sir. I have an excellent Chinese servant, a boy 
whom I can thoroughly trust, and who came with 
me from China many, many years ago. He, to¬ 
gether with the prince’s own body-servant, will guard 
him night and day. That is part of my arrangement 
with his father. You need have no fear for his safety, 
sir. I will preserve it, even with my own body.” 

“ Then I am satisfied to leave the boy in such safe 
and honourable keeping,” replied Cleek quietly, 
moving toward the door with a bow. Then he 
turned suddenly and looked back. 

“I take it that the prince’s body-servant, who 
entered this house a trifle unconventionally by means 
of the window a short while back, is somewhere here 
in the house? I should like to see him if I may.” , 


32 


The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

“Certainly.” 

Mr. Spender struck a bell at tbe side of the mantel¬ 
shelf. Almost instantly the Chinese servant who 
had opened the door appeared. 

“Tell the prince’s servant to come here,” he gave 
orders. 

The boy bowed and silently withdrew. A moment 
or two later he reappeared, his yellow face grinning 
pleasantly round the corner of the door. 

“Ah Sing unplacking, little Excellency’s luggage 
dome yesterlday. Pieparing bed for the night. 
Wish be exclused, but all leady for little master when 
big master leady to cally him upstairs,” he said in 
his impassive voice. 

“Oh, very well, then, don’t bother,” returned 
Cleek with a nod. “If Ah Sing has settled down and 
got everything ready, please don’t disturb him. 
At any rate, my responsibility is finished for the 
present. I won’t detain you any longer, Mr. 
Spender, as I know you must be anxious to get your 
charge to bed. If, however, you should need any 
assistance, communicate at once with the local 
police. Don’t hesitate, and—don’t bother to see 
me out. I can find my way alone, if this excellent 
boy of yours can conduct me. Thanks very much.” 

He shook hands with the old professor, leant over 
and passed his fingers across the sleeping boy’s fore¬ 
head, and let them stray to his pulse, just to make 
sure for his own gratification that everything was as 


The Man with the Navvy’s Hands 33 

it should be, and finding it fairly normal, followed the 
boy out of the room and into the passage. 

The Chinaman preceded him down the hallway 
and reached the front door before him, but not so 
quickly but that Cleek had caught a glimpse for the 
first time of the man’s hands as they emerged hastily 
from the hanging blue cloth sleeves to unfasten the 
latch. Caught a glimpse of them, and then sud¬ 
denly shut his mouth hard. 

For instead of the slender almond-shaped finger¬ 
nails with long talon-like ends, which are the pride 
of every Chinaman, the hands that fumbled quickly 
with the latch were square and red and coarsened, 
with blunted finger-ends and broken black nails. 
And the thumb and first finger of the right hand were 
stained brown with cigarette smoking! 

Those were white hands! Hands that had done 
rough work, and hit hard blows, undoubtedly! 
Hands of a hardened criminal type! And a “ Chinese 
boy,” eh? Well, that point would want looking 
into, at any rate. Only he couldn’t possibly do it 
now. He’d have to leave for the night, and return 
on some pretext or other later on. 

But—what the devil was a white man doing here 
in this guise? 


CHAPTER V 


A SECOND INTRUSION 

LEEK got into the waiting car again and gave 



Hampden orders to drive down through the 


^ village and then on toward the station. It 
would give him a little time to think over the present 
situation, and decide whether it was simply a coin¬ 
cidence that the boy who Mr. Spender had assured 
him was a trusted Chinaman—and who was un¬ 
doubtedly a white man in disguise—was a point to 
worry over in this matter or not. The events of the 
whole evening left him hesitant as to what to do— 
whether to put up for the night at some local inn, 
and investigate further, or simply drive back to 
Scotland Yard, tell Mr. Narkom that he had de¬ 
livered his charge safely into the right hands, re¬ 
count his adventures, and leave matters to stand as 
they were. 

But should they be allowed to stand so? Was 
there something here that wanted looking into? 
And that shot he had heard. Hampden might have 
accounted for it otherwise, but Cleek, every minute 
that he spent in thinking over it, became more and 
more certain that there had been a shot fired some- 


34 


A Second Intrusion 35 

where within the confines of that dark and desolate 
house. 

Hampden was one of those cheerful, thick-headed 
cockneys who saw no farther than their own noses, 
and for such reason was found useful, under certain 
circumstances, for the Yard’s business. Lennard 
was better trained for a job like this. He had been a 
fool to be convinced so easily by the chauffeur’s 
simple explanation. He ought to have investigated 
right away. 

As the car flew onward through the dark lanes, and 
swerved a little to the right to where a cluster of 
lights marked the tiny village of Upminster, Cleek’s 
mind was suddenly made up. This thing did want 
investigation, and the local inspector ought to be 
able to elucidate matters a trifle for him. He told 
Hampden to drive to the police-station. 

“Yessir,” said Hampden cheerily, and made for a 
block of lights which would probably be that neces¬ 
sary building. 

It was. As the car drew up outside the church¬ 
like doorway, Cleek hopped out, ran up the stone 
steps, and encountered a sleepy constable sitting on 
a high-legged stool and perusing a paper. 

“I want to see the inspector,” he told the man 
briefly, “as quickly as possible. I’ve got to return 
to London to-night. Business with Scotland Yard. 
Make tracks, Constable, please.” 

“Certainly, sir.” 


36 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

The man was on his feet in an instant. “Inspector’s 
just leavin’ fer home. P. C. Brent will be in charge 
for to-night. I’ll try and catch him, though, sir. 
This way.” 

He led the way through the ugly little building to a 
door marked “Private,” and tapped on it. 

The inspector, a burly, thick-set man with a low 
forehead and a sleepy countenance, turned from 
struggling into his overcoat and demanded their busi¬ 
ness. 

“ Gentleman from Scotland Yard to see you, sir.” 

Scotland Yard! The words had a magic effect 
down here in this sleepy little village. The inspec¬ 
tor swung round, one arm in his overcoat, and faced 
Cleek with wonderment and a little show of dis¬ 
taste. When a man’s supper was in the offing and 
business was slack, it wasn’t the pleasantest thing 
to have to postpone that meal until some time later. 
Things didn’t happen in Upminster to upset any 
one’s plans for a pleasant evening, and he was play¬ 
ing cards with one of his cronies later that night. 
Scotland Yard meant business, and the inspector was 
none too fond of the word. 

“I’d like a word with you. Inspector,” said Cleek, 
taking a chair as the constable withdrew, and set¬ 
tling himself down at the little office table with its 
orderly piles of papers. “My name is—er—Car- 
stairs, and I’m down here on business. Been de¬ 
livering a young Chinese prince over into the hands 


A Second Intrusion 


37 


of a Mr. Octavius Spender, an old Oxford professor 
who is to have charge of the boy for a year, and put 
him through his paces before he qualifies for the 
university. Know anything about this man. Spen¬ 
der, that you can tell me?” 

Reluctantly the inspector removed one arm from 
his coat, hung it up on the peg, and sat down. It 
certainly was business. 

“Why, yes,” said he offhandedly. “I know the 
old gentleman well. A nicer old chap never lived. 
I’ve heard tell of this young prince’s coming, Mr. 
Carstairs, but didn’t give the matter much thought. 
Mr. Spender has had one or two little chaps to coach 
now and again, this past year or so, though he don’t 
do much that way usually. Too old, I fancy, and 
too keen on his own hobbies.” 

“And what are those?” 

“Oh, books, and his garden—like every other 
gentleman of his kind. You know the type. But 
always got a civil word for everyone when he meets 
’em. Find everything all right up at the House on 
the Hill, sir, I hope?” 

Cleek shook his head decidedly. 

“If I had. Inspector,” he replied, “I should cer¬ 
tainly not come visiting you at this hour of the night. 
But I’m afraid I must ask you to come back to the 
House on the Hill with me— now —and make a few 
inquiries. The old gentleman, you say, knows 
you, and wouldn’t take it ill, in consequence. But 


38 


The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

I don’t think he quite realizes the enormous responsi¬ 
bility he has taken on in the person of this young 
Chinese princeling. There were one or two things 
there that rather disquieted me this evening. For 
instance, upon arrival at the house with my charge, 
I found not a light in the place. Now that’s a bit 
odd, isn’t it?” 

Inspector Cogwell shook his burly head. 

“Not if you knows Mr. Spender as I do,” he re¬ 
plied in his deep voice. “He’s fair daft on economy, 
and never a light is allowed to burn in that there 
house unless he happens to be requiring of it, or his 
Chinese boy is cookin’ the meals. An eccentric, 
that’s what Mr. Spender is, a regular hermit, likin’ 
his own company better’n any one else’s.” 

“In which, under some circumstances, I entirely 
agree with him,” said Cleek sotto voce. “But who 
does the work of the place, then?” 

“Oh, an old village woman—a Mrs. Buggings. 
Been doin’ fer him this past five years. Comes in a 
couple of days a week and puts things straight, and 
Ming Ho, his boy, sees to the rest. Funny little 
card that, but bright as a button. Sets the village 
larfin’ often, he does, with his odd ways. But no¬ 
think wrong with ’im, I can promise you. What 
makes you think that somethink’s up, Mr.—er— 
Carstairs? Nothink never is up in this little village, 
I can tell you. Every think’s as quiet and proper 
as can be, and orlways has been, to my knowledge.” 


A Second Intrusion 


39 


“So it seems,” replied Cleek quietly. “But I 
fancy something is up, all the same, and I want to 
discover what that something is. I could have 
sworn I heard a shot there to-night, while I was wait¬ 
ing in the car for some answer to my summons. 
And if it wasn’t a shot—well. I’ll eat my hat.” 

“A shot?” The inspector permitted himself to 
grin in the presence of his superior officer. “Not 
likely that. You was mistaken, I’m sure. Old 
Mr. Spender hasn’t a firearm in the place! Terrified 
of ’em, and always was. Won’t let no game-keepers 
come within miles of his grounds, and if any one so 
much as pots at a rabbit within miles of ’im, he 
nearly goes daft with terror. Weren’t no shot, I 
can promise you, sir. Mr. Spender’s that mild an 
old gent. Must have fancied that, I think, Mr. 
Carstairs. Found anything odd when you delivered 
your charge up?” 

“No—nothing. All the same, I’m going to fetch 
you out into my car this minute, and make you 
look into things a bit for me,” replied Cleek, getting 
to his feet and picking up his hat. “I’m not satisfied, 
and I thought you were the best man to come to in 
the circumstances.” 

“Well, if I must, I must.” The inspector rose 
also, and once more picked up his overcoat. “Orders 
is orders, as I thoroughly appreciate, but I’m thinking 
you’re straying after a sitting hen, sir, and ’ull find 
her comfortably at home. The sooner over the 


40 


The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

better, and I’m as hungry as a hunter fer a bite 
of supper. We’ll be getting along, if you’re 
ready.” 

As Cleek had been ready for the last five minutes— 
ever since, in fact, he had entered the office—this 
last remark was rather an unnecessary one, just as, 
thought Cleek, the inspector himself was. An un¬ 
necessary, slow-thinking, shiftless bit of humanity 
for the post he held. If this man had been any sort 
of a policeman he would have known all there was to 
know of the advent of a Chinese prince with a price¬ 
less jewel upon his person, and not waited to learn 
it from the first casual stranger who dropped into his 
office. That was a part of his job. 

“Mr. Narkom must hear about this and look into 
matters,” thought Cleek, and made a note of it upon 
his cuff in the semi-darkness of the car, as Hampden 
sped them back again to the House on the Hill, and 
the inspector, little deeming the importance of this 
unwanted visitor of his, lounged back in the cushions, 
looking the surly, disinterested person that he un¬ 
doubtedly was. 

“This is it, I fancy,” said Cleek, as the car swung 
suddenly and entered the big gates once more to 
speed up the curving driveway. “In darkness 
again, I see.” 

“As it always is at this hour of the night,” put in 
the inspector tartly. “Mr. Spender is a real early- 
to-bedder. Don’t waste much electricity, and al- 




A Second Intrusion 


41 


ways gets his beauty sleep—as ’ud be good for other 
people. Better get out, hadn’t we, and make our 
inquiries? They won’t be very pleased to see us, I 
fancy.” 

“We’ll get out when the car is at a standstill, and 
not before—unless you want to break your head, 
my man!” retorted Cleek with a touch of asperity. 
“Your supper will have to go begging when the 
Yard’s business needs conducting. That’s a thing 
you ought to have learnt at the beginning of your 
career. Let’s hope it isn’t too late to learn now. 
Now, as you’re in such a deuce of a hurry, you may 
get out of my car as soon as you like.” 

The inspector shot a quick glance sideways at the 
imperious tone of his visitor, and instinctively the 
personality of the man put him into his place. 

“No offence meant, I hope you’ll understand,” 
he said, a trifle sheepishly. 

Then he got out, followed by Cleek, made his way 
to the front door, and rang the bell. The echoes 
seemed to penetrate into every corner of the dark, 
desolate-looking house. The two men waited for a 
while in silence, until at last a light pricked out in 
the hallway, there was a rattle of chains, and a 
fumbling of fingers at the huge locks of the door. It 
swung open, and Mr. Spender, clad in dressing- 
gown and night-cap, put his head round the corner of 
it. 

“What is it? What is it?” he said testily. “Dis- 


42 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

turbing a gentleman in the midst of his slumbers! 
Very inconsiderate, I consider. Kindly state your 
business at once, and let me get back to my bed. 
Eh? Is it you. Inspector? What the deuce are 
you coming here at this hour for?” 

“ Just to know if everything is O. K. with you and 
your young charge, sir,” put in the inspector feebly, 
and Cleek saw that the man’s face was red under his 
tan as the light of the hall lamp fell upon it. “Gen’- 
leman here from London seemed anxious about you, 
and turned me out to come along and look you up. 
Everything all right, then, I take it?” 

“Of course, of course! The young prince is asleep 
in bed this past hour or so. Everything is per¬ 
fectly all right, and I wish the gentleman from 
London would take a little more interest in his own 
affairs and not trouble about other people’s. Good¬ 
night.” 

Then the door slammed upon them; there was a 
rattle of bolts and bars, the light in the hallway dis¬ 
appeared, and in the darkness these two men looked 
at each other by the moon’s pale light, each a little 
disgruntled at the foolishness of their quest. 

Cleek led the way back to the car again. He 
spoke not one word. 

“You see?” said the inspector testily and with ill- 
concealed triumph. “The whole affair was your 
imagination, sir, if you’ll pardon my saying so. 
Nothing wrong whatsoever. Perhaps you’ll give 


A Second Intrusion 43 

me a lift back to my place on your way to the sta¬ 
tion?” 

“I’d give you a lift somewhere else, and very 
speedily, too, if I had my way!” mentally remarked 
Cleek as the car started up again. But he said 
nothing, merely sat there—thinking. 


CHAPTER VI 


THE VANISHING TRICK 

C AUTIOUSLY the car picked its way through 
the dark gates and swung out into the lane 
beyond. The inspector was whistling softly 
under his breath, well pleased with having got some¬ 
thing on this gentleman from London with his inter¬ 
fering ways, and little anticipating the letter which 
was to reach him some time later and point out to 
him the error of his own. Cleek, eyes bent upon the 
landscape which flew past the open window, and 
drinking in the soft, sweet country scents of the 
night, leant forward in his seat, put his head round 
the corner of the window frame, and called to Hamp¬ 
den. 

“Not so fast, please! You’ll take all the freshness 
out of this blessed summer atmosphere with your 
whiffs of burnt gasoline!” he sang out merrily, and as 
the car slowed down to a more leisurely pace, and 
the balm of the night air touched his brow and bared 
head with caressing fingers, he saw that they were 
in a country lane, with low hedges running either 
side of it, and wide spaces of what looked like pasture- 
land stretching away into the night. Suddenly his 
44 


The Vanishing Trick 45 

hand touched a little bell hidden in the window 
frame, and instantly the car came to a standstill in 
answer to this private signal. 

Inspector Cog well pitched to his feet. 

“Hello! Station at last! I- Stopping for 

something, eh?” 

Cleek’s uplifted hand silenced him. Like a flash 
he was out of the car, across the lane, and through 
the low, broken hedge, with Cogwell puffing and 
blundering like a bull after him. The inspector 
saw him touch someone on the arm, and hurried for¬ 
ward as a woman’s frightened cry went up. 

“Hello! I say- Why! Miss Ellison!” 

Cleek answered him. “Yes. Young lady here. 
Know who she is, then, Inspector? She oughtn’t 
to be out at this hour of the night alone, you know.” 
His torch shot out a circle of light. “Ah! A nurse, 
I see. May I ask what you are doing here?” 

The girl —-for she was but a girl, with frightened 
pale face and wide, terrified brown eyes—straight¬ 
ened herself under the touch of Cleek’s fingers, and 
spoke in a shaking, tremulous voice. 

“The inspector will t-tell you who I am. And 
who are you? And why do you stop me here, and 
want to know my business? I’m a trained nurse, 
and I’m out on my duties, and—and ■” 

“Is the squire worse, then, Nurse?” put in the 
inspector at this juncture. “’Tisn’t often one 
catches a sight of you at this time o’ night. ’Tisn’t 


46 


The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

fit for yon to be out alone, you know. What on 
earth was you about?” 

“Oh—oh—I came out for fresh air—for fresh 
medicine, I mean. Yes—no—the squire was taken 
bad again, and I had to run out. Oh, dear! I am so 
frightened I hardly know what I am saying. This 
—this gentleman terrified me so! I was walking 
along toward Doctor Hunter’s surgery when I 
heard your car.” 

“And jumped behind this hedge, in case someone 
saw you, I suppose, and made off with you,” threw 
in Cleek quietly. “Well, someone did see you, Miss 
Ellison. I was that someone. And I saw you dart 
into this hiding place and crouch down, though 
why a nurse should hide herself from view when out 
in pursuit of her duties beats me!” 

“You don’t know the squire, or you wouldn’t say 
that!” she replied in a shaking voice, striking her 
hands together over her breast and breathing hard. 
“He’s a terrible man, such a taskmaster! Inspector 
Cogwell will tell you! I so rarely can leave him. It 
was only this medicine of his-” 

“But you oughn’t to leave him, ever, should you?” 
said the inspector a trifle reproachfully. “A gentle¬ 
man who’s touched like him in his mind oughtn’t 
to be left at all. Why didn’t you telephone, 
Nurse?” 

“Because the line was out of order. I couldn’t get 
a reply, so I was obliged to run out myself. The 


47 


The Vanishing Trick 

squire was sleeping, and I set old Martha on duty. 
Please don’t detain me, or I shall get into fearful 
trouble, I will, really!” 

“Very well, then, hurry along and get back to 
your patient as quickly as you can; and many apolo¬ 
gies for the fright I gave you,” said Cleek, parting the 
broken hedge to let her pass through more easily. 
“And don’t be too frightened of passers-by seeing 
you on your way to meet a—lover.” 

He bent his head as he spoke this word, and she 
started and flushed and laughed a little awkwardly 
up at him, in spite of her previous fear. Then she 
sped on to the highroad, and ran along it, a fleeting 
shadow amongst other shadows. Meanwhile, the 
inspector, looking more than ever mystified and 
disgruntled at the goings-on of this “mad London 
chap,” made his way back to the car, and Cleek, in 
the darkness, stooped suddenly, picked up a little 
shining object, and tucked it—after a single glance— 
away in his pocket. 

H’m! Drug-fiends, too, in this perfect village 
where nothing untoward ever happened. The in¬ 
spector obviously had his eyes conveniently glued 
shut. For the little object that had shone up at 
Cleek as he helped the girl through the gap in the 
hedge, and which he carried at present in his pDcket, 
was a hypodermic syringe. 

He dropped the inspector at the station house, made 
a detour of the village street so that Mr. Cog well 


48 


The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

might imagine him speeding conveniently back to 
London, and then spoke softly to Hampden. 

“We’re havin’ quite a busy evenin’, ain’t we, sir?” 
said the latter cheerily, as he sent the car heading 
away once more toward the House on the Hill. 
“I’ll soon know me way there blindfold, I’m think- 
in’.” 

“Well, this’ll be the last time, I hope, for to-night,” 
replied Cleek, “and then home again to London, and a 
stop on the way for a bite of that supper which the 
inspector was so anxious to participate in. You’ve 
served me well to-night, Hampden. I shan’t for¬ 
get.” 

“That’s all right, sir. Part of my business. A 
pleasure, too, if I may make so bold. Chaps don’t 
often have the chance to serve real gentlemen like 
yourself, sir—not in the Yard, meanin’ no disrespect 
to it, all the same.” 

The car sped forward again, and went plunging 
through the darkness. Up through the long pitch- 
black lane, round to the right, and by the disused 
barn which Cleek had noticed on their first journey 
up; down the little hill, and up again past endless 
fields of pastureland with no sign of human habita¬ 
tion anywhere; then round into the long straight 
road which ended in those iron gates through which 
they had already passed twice that evening. 

“Drive slowly here, Hampden, and stop just in¬ 
side the gateway; I want to have a good look at the 


49 


The Vanishing Trick 

place—all I can see of it by the moon’s light, any¬ 
how,” ordered Cleek, and Hampden pulled the car 
to a standstill just inside the gateway. For five 
minutes Cleek sat absolutely silent, staring in front 
of him. Somewhere in the trees near by a nightin¬ 
gale trilled in an ecstasy of liquid melody. The soft 
rustle of the trees was like some whispered orchestral 
accompaniment of Nature’s own, while over above the 
darkened house itself an ice-white moon floated in a 
cloudless indigo sky. 

Then, like a knife-blade cutting through the 
peace of that still evening, a woman’s agonized 
scream rent the silence in one awful, blood-curdling 
shriek. The nightingale’s song broke in a terri¬ 
fied cascade of notes, and the little black body of 
the bird swept quickly across the sky. Cleek, 
stilled for a moment out of his material self, jumped 
up like a flash, was out of the car, and had hold of 
Hampden’s arm in the fleeting of an eyelash, all the 
detective awake in him. 

“Hear that, Hampden?” he cried excitedly. 
“Good God! There’s murder taking place there! 
And there’s a woman in it! Let’s cut along and see 
for ourselves!” Then, throwing all caution to the 
winds, he whipped out his revolver, bade Hampden 
fetch his likewise, and the two of them went tearing 
up the drive. 

But the driveway was longer than Cleek had 
realized, and entrance into the house not so easy. 


50 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

He sent Hampden round one side while he himself 
tackled the other, trying every bolt of the window 
frames to find one which was unlocked. Hampden’s 
tense whisper reached him at last somewhere close 
at hand. 

“This one’s open, sir. We’ll make a start here.” 

And when Cleek reached him he found that a 
tiny window, which looked as though it might lead 
into an L off the main hall, was unlatched. Hamp¬ 
den’s quick fingers threw it open, then with a spring 
Cleek was on the window ledge and had crawled 
through the narrow aperture with the chauffeur 
close upon his heels. 

They dropped silently down into the hall—for 
such it indeed proved to be—and sped along the 
black passage, revolvers cocked in right hands, left 
hands groping by wall and bannister-rail for guidance. 
Cleek found himself at last by the front door. He 
lighted his flashlight but there was nothing and no¬ 
body in sight. The house was empty of sound, 
silent as a grave—black, except where the ray of 
light shone now, as the proverbial pocket. 

Cleek whisked open the door of the study 

“Keep guard, Hampden, and stand ready for 
trouble,” he rapped out briskly, and then entered the 
room, his torch playing in front of him. 

But it was empty. Not from there, then, did the 
scream emanate. Back he ran down the passage 
again, flashing his torch wherever he went, switching 


The Vanishing Trick 51 

on lights, opening doors, and entering rooms; and 
finding—nothing! 

Upstairs, downstairs, into attic and cellar, base¬ 
ment and drawing room, these two men went, hunt¬ 
ing for some sign of the gruesome tracks of murder. 
They ransacked the house from top to bottom, and 
found not a trace of any one! Gone was the old 
professor, gone Ah Sing, gone the boy with the 
navvy’s hands; gone the young prince and his little 
violet leather jewel case, and gone with him, 
naturally, the Amber Ship! 


CHAPTER VII 


FAILURE 


HINGS were at an impasse, indeed. Both 



men had heard that awful scream, both men 


recognized where it emanated from, but the 
House on the Hill was as empty of human habitation 
as it had been full of it a mere matter of an hour 
before! What had happened in the meantime? What 
strange agency had swept over the house and stolen 
away all its occupants? And if murder had been 
done, as that woman’s scream led one to suppose, 
where had the murderer hidden himself, and how 
disposed of his victim? 

It certainly was a facer, from every point you 
looked at it. 

“There’s nothing to be found here, anyway, sir,” 
remarked Hampden at last, as he and Cleek reached 
the front door and, opening it, looked out upon the 
still night. “Whatever happened, all trace of it is 
gone—somewhere! Talk about supernatural agen¬ 
cies! Fair makes your flesh creep, don’t it?” 

“It certainly does.” Cleek’s voice was mystified. 
“We’d better do a search of the grounds while we’re 
about it, though, Hampden. You take the right- 


Failure 


53 


hand side, and I’ll take the left. If either finds 
anything, whistle three times, and the other will come 
immediately to his aid. Get that?” 

“Yessir.” 

Hampden plunged off into the shadows, ar d Cleek 
followed the direction he had mapped out for him¬ 
self. But hunting for possible murderers at eleven 
o’clock at night is not as easy as it probably sounds. 
Shadows greeted him on every side whose very d ense- 
ness made his task almost impossible. True, he 
had his electric torch, but this made little head¬ 
way in the tangle of shrubs which girt the house on 
either side. He tumbled into the rosebed which lay 
under the study window, and got scratched for his 
pains. 

But nothing whatever was forthcoming. After an 
hour with no whistle from either side, the two men 
returned to the front of the house, puzzled beyond 
words at the problem they had encountered. 

“Nothing for it but to return to London, tackle the 
superintendent himself, and look into things with a 
couple of the Yard’s own men!” said Cleek, with a 
sigh of fatigue, as he led the way to the motor. 
“This thing’s fairly done me, Hampden. How 
they made their getaway in so short a space of 
time I can’t imagine, unless, of course, the house is 
full of hidden panels, as many of these old houses 
are. A newcomer, at this hour of the night, is 
hardly to know where to look for them, is he? We 




54 


The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

must wait until the morning—or, rather, return to¬ 
morrow. That’ll be the best way.” 

Hampden nodded, closed the limousine door upon 
Cleek, climbed into his own seat and, starting the 
engine, let the motor leap forward down the silent 
roadway and spin on into the shadows ahead. Mean¬ 
while, Cleek, sitting back against the cushions, felt 
an inward sinking of the heart as he reviewed the 
night’s doings, and realized that he would have to 
return to Mr. Narkom and admit failure where he 
had been so certain of success. 

Drat that impossible inspector! If he had been 
half a man, and given him the help he required, this 
thing might never have happened. No use now, 
however, for recriminations. The cat was out of the 
bag, the Amber Ship and its young owner had both 
vanished, and the mischief had been done in the 
short span of half an evening! 

And he, Cleek, had failed his friend! Failed the 
man who had stood by him when all else seemed set 
against him; failed Mr. Narkom who loved him like 
a brother, and whom he, too, loved with a great deal 
of gratitude for a new start in life, and a great deal 
of tender amusement for the methods in which he 
conducted the Yard’s business. 

This was only a small matter in comparison with 
the task Cleek had set himself to do when first he had 
turned back from paths of crime and darkness, led 
upward by the light in a woman’s eyes and guided 


Failure 


55 


by that strong right hand of the good superintend¬ 
ent himself. And the task had been to refund in 
full every single penny he had stolen in those past 
years when he had been one with the rats that crawl 
in the Paris sewers, and with a moral code lower 
even than they. Ailsa Lome had shown him the 
beauty of love, and Mr. Narkom had given him the 
crown of friendship. It was to these two that he 
owed his very life, and he had failed one of them. 

The average detective would perhaps review this 
sentimental state of affairs with something of a lurk¬ 
ing smile. But Cleek was Cleek, and, mysterious 
man that he was (and Dollops could have told you a 
tale of kingship and courts to which he could have 
laid claim had he wanted), where Cleek’s heart was, 
there was Cleek’s loyalty, and he was of the kind 
that would sooner give his own life than fail a friend. 

But there was nothing for it now but to return to 
London as quickly as possible, get a few hours’ 
sleep, and confess to the superintendent exactly what 
had happened. Cleek’s mind tracked back over the 
whole day’s strange occurrences, trying to loop up 
the broken threads into some sort of tangible whole. 
But there was nothing, as yet, to link them. Not a 
clue to be caught hold of. Points to be investi¬ 
gated—yes. This Nurse Ellison, for instance. Ly¬ 
ing, of course, and fairly badly frightened. And 
that Chinese boy’s hands. And the sudden change 
of front on the part of Mr. Spender. And the shot. 


56 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

And the scream. And the empty house, with its 
vanishing occupants. Plenty to think about, but 
not as yet one connecting link. 

The three hours’ journey to London was over at 
last, and hungry and faint with the evening’s excite¬ 
ment and lack of bodily sustenance, Cleek fairly 
tumbled out of the limousine at his rooms in Clarges 
Street, caught Hampden by the arm, and tugged 
him up the stone steps of the big building with a 
weary grin. 

“You’re having sandwiches and cocoa with me, my 
friend!” he said, as Hampden turned surprised eyes 
upon him. “You’ve stood the racket splendidly. 
Dollops will see to us in a jiffy. He’s a handy man 
in every sense is my Cockney henchman. But come 
as quietly as you can, for every other occupant of 
this block of flats is naturally sleeping their beauty 
sleep—or ought to be.” 

They crept up the stairs like mice, let themselves 
into the little flat which Cleek rented on the top 
floor, and then, at Cleek’s low whistle, there was 
a sound of scrambling, and a sleepy-eyed, tousle- 
headed, and ginger-topped Dollops, in a suit of 
broad blue-and-white-striped pyjamas, and a dress¬ 
ing gown of scarlet wool, tumbled out into the tiny 
passage, rubbing his eyes. 

“Mr. Cleek, sir! So you’ve come back, ’ave you?' 
And that’s ’Ampden? ’Ad some supper I ’ope, 
sir?” 


Failure 


57 


“Never a bite, my lad,” returned Cleek merrily. 
“Fairly famished, the pair of us! See what you can 
find, there’s a good chap, and as sharp as possible.” 

“Nuffink to eat! ’Ow orful!” ejaculated Dollops, 
clattering into the little kitchen and ringing a merry 
tune with pots and pans. “You’ll ’ave summink in 
a jiffy, I promise yer!” 

“As speedily as you can,” said Cleek. “And then 
Hampden’s going home to that little wife of his and 
the kiddy. And I’m going to bed! Your report 
can wait until the morning. Worried will she be, 
eh, Hampden?” 

The chauffeur fingered his cap awkwardly, and 
reddened. “No, sir. Used to the Yard’s work she 
is—’er father was in the Force before he retired. 
Knows it’s no use worryin’ when I’m late.” 

“Heavens! what a perfect spouse! Now then, 
Dollops, hurry up with that supper. I’m so hungry 
I could chew a bottle of beer!” 

“Better drink one, sir, I’ve got it ’andy,” volun¬ 
teered Dollops, marching into the room, a queer 
figure with his uplifted tray, tousled hair, and scarlet 
dressing gown. “And ’ere it is! Now, tuck in as 
farst as you like, and if I may sit down, I’ll ’ave a 
bite, too. I didn’t ’ave nuffink much fer supper 
but a brace of sossidges, a cold chop, and a jelly 
wot I found in the larder. And that ain’t enuff ter 
keep a man alive, is it?” 

“No, but with an umbrella added and a couple of 


58 


The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

newspapers, it would keep an ostrich fairly flourish¬ 
ing—and that’s what you are. He’ll eat on his 
death-bed, Hampden, and start chewing the angels’ 
wings when he goes up aloft. Now, then, man, set to 
and help yourself!” 


CHAPTER VIII 


WHAT HAPPENED AT THE BOOKSHOP 

E ARLY next morning saw Cleek on his way 
to Mr. Narkom’s, something of the over¬ 
night’s assumed merriment gone, and the 
thought of what he must tell his friend lying like 
lead against his heart. 

He reached the superintendent’s office just as that 
gentleman was divesting himself of hat and coat, 
ready for the business of the day. They shook hands 
heartily. 

“Well?” said he, seating himself. “How goes it?” 
“Bad,” said Cleek soberly. “Deuced bad!” 
“What’s that? ’Tisn’t often I hear you use that 
word, my friend. What’s up? Anything gone wrong? 
The prince is all right, I hope?” 

“The prince and the Amber Ship—are gone! 
Vanished into thin air!” 

“Good God! You’re mad, Cleek! Gone?” Mr. 
Narkom sprang to his feet and started pacing up and 
down the long, high room, stopping at last in front 
of his friend and laying a hand upon his shoulder. 
“Gone? What d’you mean, gone? You’ve not 
failed, Cleek, have you?” 


59 ) 


60 


The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

Cleek’s head was bowed for a minute. 

“Yes,” he said, “I have failed, Mr. Narkom. 
Failed miserably! It’s the very devil to have to tell 
you that. Here are the facts of the case.” 

Then he seated himself on the edge of the superin¬ 
tendent’s desk, related the last night’s happenings in 
full, and traced with his finger, and one emphatic 
fist to mark emphasis, the position of the House on the 
Hill, where he and Hampden had made the search, 
and where their car stood when they heard that 
woman’s shrill scream pierce the stillness of the night. 

“And the dickens of it is, it was a woman’s voice, 
and there were no women in the house. To my 
knowledge, anyway,” he finished, as, the recital 
ended, he slid from the desk-top and started swing¬ 
ing up and down the room puffing at his cigarette, 
brows down, his whole personality awake and 
worried. “That’s what I can’t fathom. And where 
those people vanished to. You’ve got to come along 
at once, Mr. Narkom, and see what you can do. 
The thing wants immediate investigation, and if that 
inspector chap had been any sort of an official, none 
of this would have occurred. I’m not exonerating 
myself-” 

“You’ve nothing to exonerate yourself from. You 
did your share, and left the young prince in the 
proper hands. Any other man but a chap with a 
sixth sense such as you possess would have returned 
to London with a settled mind,” answered the super- 


What Happened at the Bookshop 61 

intendent, with an affectionate squeeze of Cleek’s 
arm in passing. “You’ve nothing to blame yourself 
for. You did your duty just as you always do. 
It’s that damned inspector who failed the Yard. 
He ought to have had someone on the lookout the 
instant the prince arrived, and men posted round the 
house for possible intruders. Why the dickens 
he hadn’t beats me! Anyhow, the fat’s in the fire 
with a vengeance! I’ll fix up a few things, and then 
join you, and we’ll motor down at once!” 

“All right.” Cleek picked up his hat and made 
for the door. “I’m taking Dollops along. He’s got 
a report to make me, but he was off this morning 
before daybreak, to finish it, and so I never had a 
chance of a word with him. I set him on to that old 
chap in Waterloo Station, and why he didn’t turn up 
in the trail of his quarry at Upminster beats me en¬ 
tirely. I’ll meet you here in an hour. How will 
that be?” 

“O. K. Good-bye, and don’t worry over your 
share,” returned the superintendent, looking, never¬ 
theless, thoroughly worried over the whole unfor¬ 
tunate business. “The boy must be found, and the 
Amber Ship, too! I was a fool not to have arranged 
for further police surveillance down there.” 

Cleek put on his hat and went out, meeting Dollops 
in the street below, just returned, very dusty and 
tired, from his early morning’s work. 

“Now,” said he as they walked away together. 


62 


The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

“ let’s hear your share of the business, Dollops my 
lad. Things have worked out badly for us. Let’s 
hope they show a decided improvement for you. 
You followed out my instructions yesterday?” 

“Yessir. And follered the old gent a goodish dis¬ 
tance, too,” returned Dollops eagerly. “Give me a 
fair chyse, ’e did. And not a taste of tea in the 
meanwhile!” 

“Then how was it I didn’t see you at Upminster?” 

“Upminster?” Dollops’s voice ran up a tiny scale 
of surprise. “Upminster, sir? ’E didn’t go nowhere 
near Upminster. Stayed right ’ere in Lunnon, ’e 
did. Took a ’bus to Euston and then went dodgin’ 
dahn to the Edgware Road, and came to earth at 
a little second-’and bookshop somewheres off it. 
Never sniffed the air of Upminster in that old gentle¬ 
man’s wake, I kin promise yer!” 

Cleek stopped in his tracks, and let out a little 
whistle. 

“You mean to say he never went to Upminster at 
all!” he gave out suddenly, in an amazed voice. 
“Sure, Dollops? You didn’t mix your quarry up, 
eh? Certain of that?” 

“Wish I was as certain of ’Eaving, sir,” returned 
Dollops fervently. “No, no Upminster for ’im! 
The Edgware Road was ’is lay, and that’s where I 
tracked ’im to, and that’s where ’e probably is at this 
instant! What made you think of ’is goin’ to 
Upminster, then?” 


What Happened at the Bookshop 63 

Excitement showed itself in Cleek’s suddenly tense 
body, in his suddenly lowered voice. He waved one 
hand toward an adjacent park. 

“Come inside here, and let’s find a bench where no 
one can interrupt or overhear us, and tell me all 
about it,” he made reply. “Now,” as they seated 
themselves under the shade of an elm tree in the 
deserted park, for at that hour no one was about. 
“I thought of Upminster naturally, because I hap¬ 
pened to see the gentleman and speak to him in 
Upminster. Either you, or I, Dollops, have taken 
leave of our senses this fine morning.” 

“Mr. Cl-! You spoke to 9 im! Excuse me, 

sir, but you couldn’t! ’E never left my sight until 
upwards of ten o’clock, and then I left ’im a-sittin’ 
in ’is back-parlour, smokin’ a pipe and readin’ a 
book which ’e took from ’is own shelves. I tell you 
sir, you ain’t never saw ’im.” 

“Then I saw his double!” 

“Well, ’is double it must have been. But the old 
gent you told me ter shadder, I shaddered, and I’ll 
swear ’e never went near Upminster, nor thought of 
goin’ there the whole evenin’.” 

“Whew!” Cleek whistled again, and sat a minute 
in thought, puffing away at his cigarette. Mean¬ 
while Dollops watched his master’s face with incredu¬ 
lous eyes, not quite certain whether he was beginning 
to wander in his mind or what had happened to him. 

“There’s more in this than meets the eye, Dol- 


64 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

lops,” said Cleek suddenly, getting to his feet and 
moving quickly onward. “And what class of book¬ 
shop was this you say you saw him at?” 

“A ramshackle little place in a shabby side 
street, sir,” returned Dollops, beginning to scent 
excitement. “Little tumble-down place, with rows 
and rows of bookshelves inside, and stalls outside 
littered wiv tuppenny-ha’penny magazines and books 
’arf tumblin’ on ter the street. Any slick-fingered 
chap could ’a’ made away with them, easy! And the 
old gen’leman knowin’ nuffink abaht it! ’E’d be a 
pauper inside of a year, wiv them methods of busi¬ 
ness, I kin tell yer!” 

“And a learned Oxford scholar—an old don, too! 
It’s amazing!” broke in Cleek quickly, barely follow¬ 
ing the thread of what Dollops was saying in his own 
field of thought. “Now, how the dickens can one 
account for it? I swear I saw him, or someone made 
up to impersonate him, at the House on the Hill last 
night. And yet, here he is, turning up in a second¬ 
hand bookshop off the Edgware Road. Nice neigh¬ 
bourhood for a man of his calling, too! Something 
exceedingly fishy here, from what I can make of it! 
Anything else to report?” 

“Only that a couple er Chinks turned up at ’is 
plyce abaht twenty minutes arfter ’e’d got ’ome, and 
’e let ’em in by a side door.” 

“Chinks! That’s queer! And then-?” 

“Then he took ’em into a little back latching, 



What Happened at the Bookshop 65 

where there weren’t no charnce of me a-hearin’ 
nuffin’ in my ’idin’ plyce outside, and they st’yed 
wiv ’im nigh on to an hour. I waited until I sees 
’em get away before I comes ’ome again.” 

“And how did they leave?” 

“By the front of the shop, shakin’ ’ands wiv the 
ole gentleman real friendly like, and wiv a book under 
each arm. ’E didn’t seem so friendly, though, I must 
say. Looked worried and ’ardly waited ter say 
good-bye. Then the Chinks made orf. I kep’ a- 
watchin’ till I see ’im settle dahn in his little room 
onct more, and pick up a book from one of them 
shelves, and then, when nuffink else ’appened, I ups 
and come ’ome to report to you. That’s all, sir.” 

“Well, not a bad ‘all,’ taken on points, Dollops,” 
returned Cleek gravely. “The Octopus has swung 
one of its tentacles as far as the Edgware Road, has 
it? From China to Upminster, and across London l 
This case is going to keep us pretty busy! Well, it’s 
time we returned to Mr. Narkom. We’re off to 
Upminster at once. Dollops, and you’re coming with 
us.” 

They found Mr. Narkom ready and waiting, and 
the old limousine, with Lennard at the wheel. 
When they were fairly started upon their journey, 
Cleek told the superintendent all he had gleaned 
from Dollops. Mr. Narkom looked amazed and up¬ 
set, as was only too natural. 

“Then that wasn’t the real man we handed him 


66 


The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

to, after all?” he ejaculated, shaking his head at the 
disastrous prospect. 

“Yes, he held full letters of authority, and he was 
in the House on the Hill very obviously as its right¬ 
ful master when I saw him,” returned Cleek. “Per¬ 
haps the other old chap wasn’t the right one. Per¬ 
haps, for some reason or other, he was made up 
simply to look like him, and had designs on spiriting 
the young prince away at the station—only we got 
the better of him first. There’re a dozen different 
theories that occur to you, are there not? And 
Dollops said he simply went quietly home and, 
after the Chinamen had left him, settled down in his 
own room with a book. And if he had been an im¬ 
postor, he wouldn’t have done that!” 

“No, he certainly wouldn’t. More likely be off 
on some nefarious errand connected with his make-up 
in the part,” added Mr. Narkom with decision. 
“If he’s got a double, and the double is mixed up 
with Chinks, then we must keep a line on both parties 
as near as we can, and see if the two ends won’t meet 
to form the circle. What do you suggest we do 
first, Cleek?” 

“Make straight for the local police station, when 
I hope you will give that delightful inspector in 
charge just ten minutes of your time and your tongue, 
and then bring him back to me, and we’ll pump all 
the information relative to the village out of him.” 

“Right. He’ll get the piece of my mind, for sure. 


What Happened at the Bookshop 67 

And get put down for neglect of duty, also—if not a 
total discharge from the Force altogether.” Mr. 
Narkom spoke heatedly. “This is a devil of a long 
journey, Cleek. How far are we now?” 

“Going through Muddenford—about twenty-five 
miles away from Upminster,” returned Cleek, and 
then settled himself back in his seat, lit a cigarette, 
and subsided into silence. 

They reached Upminster just after three o’clock, 
having partaken of the sandwiches and fruit which 
the superintendent had thoughtfully had put up for 
the journey so that no time need be wasted in lunch¬ 
ing, and Cleek told Lennard to make straight for 
the police station. Like an avenging Nemesis Mr. 
Narkom strode up the stone steps, hailed the con¬ 
stable who sat upon his stool reading the news from a 
yesterday’s paper, and brought him quickly to his 
feet with a mention of his name. 

“I wish to see the inspector at once!” Mr. 
Narkom was bristling with outraged officialdom. He 
could barely wait to encounter his victim, and as the 
scared constable fairly ran to his chief’s office, and 
opened the door, in his haste, without knocking, the 
superintendent received a full blast of the inspector’s 
quality in the language which he gave out to his in¬ 
ferior for his forgetfulness. 

“You damned fool!” he was just finishing, as he 
got to his feet from the comfortable office chair he 
was sitting in, a cigar between his lips and his coat 


68 


The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

unbuttoned. “Where’d you learn yer manners* 
I’d like to know!” Then he faltered in his flow of 
eloquence, met the cold eyes of the Superintendent 
of Scotland Yard, and let the rest of his sentence 
go by default as he brought himself smartly to the 
salute. 

Cleek, standing a little distance behind Mr. 
Narkom, had seen and heard it all, and permitted 
himself a little smile as he saw the biter bit. His 
eyes met the inspector’s, and the hot blood flooded 
that gentleman’s ruddy face. 

Then Mr. Narkom walked in firmly. 

“Now, Inspector,” he said in his short, sharp tones. 
And closed the door. 


CHAPTER IX 


BRIEF, BUT OF MUCH IMPORTANCE 

I T WAS twenty minutes later when that door 
opened again, and Cleek, at the respectful sugges¬ 
tion of the worthy constable, had taken a seat 
in the little ante-room and was quietly smoking and 
thinking things over, when Mr. Narkom, followed by 
a very cowed and contrite inspector, came into the 
room. 

The superintendent’s face was red, but the in¬ 
spector’s was redder, and just a little white about the 
gills, too, from the dressing-down he had just re¬ 
ceived. 

“ The inspector is ready to apologize to you for his 
summary treatment of you yesterday, my dear 

Cl-Carstairs,” said Mr. Narkom, waving a hand 

toward his victim. 

“ C-certainly, sir. Any think I said or did I’m 
exceedin’ly sorry if I offended,” put in the inspector 
feebly, and Cleek dismissed the subject with a 
shrug of his shoulders. 

“All right. All right. That’s past and done with, 
and a lesson learnt never hurts any one. Now let’s 
get down to brass tacks. We want all the knowl- 



70 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

edge you can give us of this village and its inhabi¬ 
tants. First and foremost, what can you tell us 
about this Mr. Spender? Mr. Narkom has no doubt 
told you of my discovery last night?” 

“Yes, sir.” The inspector was all attention in¬ 
stantly. “Horrible, ain’t it? This Mr. Spender 
has always been a very nice gentleman, sir, most 
pleasant-spoken to them that comes in contact with 
him, and living the life of a real hermit otherwise. 
Been a Master at Oxford University, sir, and always 
noted for his knowledge of the East, so I’ve been 
told.” 

“Yes, I know all that. Has he got any relatives 
living near?” 

“Never heard tell of any in my time. Only people 
connected with him are that Chinese boy who lives 
with ’im and the old woman, Mrs. Buggins, who 
does the charrin’ two days a week. No one else 
ever seems to come near ’im. And he never enter¬ 
tains.” 

“And where does this Mrs. Buggins live?” 

“Number Seven, The Cottages, down past the 
butcher’s on the right-’and side of the High Street.” 

Cleek pencilled the name upon his cuff. 

“Thanks. We’ll see her later. Now, who else 
lives here? Residents, I mean. Who was that 
Nurse Ellison we encountered, and where does she 
live?” 

i “Up at the Manor. She’s the squire’s nurse. 


71 


Brief , 0 / Much Importance 

Squire’s been ailin’ these past three years, and Miss 
Ellison takes care of him. Somethin’ the matter up 
’ere.” The Inspector tapped his head significantly. 

“And what’s the squire’s name?” 

“Sir George Brentwood.” 

“Married?” 

“Yes. And with one son, Mr. Frank, who, be¬ 
tween you and me, gentlemen, is a fair bit of a 
waster. Squire loses his temper something orful 
with that young gentleman. Can’t keep any work 
he sets him to. Fond of the ’orses, I think, that’s 
what the trouble is. Then squire’s gout makes ’im 
orful-tempered, too. Lady Brentwood don’t have 
much of a time in that ’ouse, I fancy.” 

“And what is she like?” 

“A sweet, gentle, kind lady, if ever there was one. 
Does no end of good in the village, among the poor, 
sir. But that scared of her husband! And with 
Mr. Frank’s recent trouble-” 

Cleek flicked up an enquiring eyebrow. 

“What’s that? Recent trouble? What trouble 
did he get into, may I ask?” 

“Oh, had a dreadful quarrel with his father about 
horses, I hear, and then the old gentleman ordered 
him out of the house, and he hasn’t been there since! 
Got a job with a jeweller’s firm, the last I ’eard of 
him, somewheres in London.” 

“Oho!” said Cleek in two different tones, looking 
significantly at Mr. Narkom. Jeweller’s firm, eh? 



72 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

And the Amber Ship coming to the country! One 
certainly never knew, and this was a point to go on. 
“And who else lives in this peaceful little village, 
Inspector?” 

“Doctor Hunter, him as ’as taken old Doctor 
Beddingfold’s practice while he’s gone to some 
sanitarium or other to patch up his lungs,” went on 
the inspector, obviously anxious to make up for past 
delinquencies, and using his brain as best he was 
able. “The Basings, mother, daughter, and son, as 
has the place out beyond Porch Pool, which lies half 
a mile out of the village, sir; Mr. Amers, a gentleman- 
farmer, who’s taken Ponders, the farm beyond the 
Manor, since the last four years back; and a leddy 
whose name I don’t know, but who has leased the 
End House—called that because it’s the end of the 
village, just a step past the Doctor’s surgery. She’s 
a widow, so I hears tell, and ’as come here with an 
invalid daughter. Oh, and Miss Omritt—nearly 
forgot Miss Prudence, as the villagers call her. 
She’s the old parson’s daughter, sir, a lady of middle 
years, with a ’eart as big as herself is little. She 
lives in Rose Cottage, just two doors down from 
here, on the right-’and side of the street.” 

“And that’s the lot, then?” 

“Yes, sir.” The inspector scratched his head a 
moment, as an outward show of his immense con¬ 
centration. “All the gentry, that is. ’Course, 
there’s the villagers. But they’ve lived and died in 


73 


Brief , But of Much Importance 

their cottages, and never moves, as you know, sir. 
The rectory ain’t occupied at the moment. Mr. 
Sawer over at Little Chington serves the two churches 
of a Sunday, until the new living is arranged here, 
and Miss Prudence does the sick-visiting.” 

“H’m. Thank you, Inspector. A very lucid 
and clear report.” Cleek turned to Mr. Narkom. 
“Now, old friend, our best move is to make for the 
House on the Hill straight away. I think the in¬ 
spector and one of his men might come with us. It’s 
as well to be prepared, even in the daylight.” 

“Certainly, my dear Cl-Carstairs, certainly,” 

returned Mr. Narkom, jumping up at once and 
making for the entrance. Then they got into the 
car, where Dollops, sitting beside Lennard, was 
awaiting them, took the inspector inside with them, 
and were off and away upon ^hat road which Cleek 
had already learnt to know so well, to the mysteri¬ 
ous House on the Hill. 


CHAPTER X 


A GRUESOME DISCOVERY 


THEY reached the driveway and wound 



slowly up through it, toward the old gray 


A house, with its odd, sinister air and tall 
gables jutting up out of the trees, Mr. Narkom gave 
forth an involuntary exclamation. 

“Cinnamon, what an odd-looking place!” 

And in the daylight Cleek certainly was inclined 
to agree with him. It was odd-looking, odd-looking 
and peculiarly sinister, though why, it would be 
difficult to guess. Ruin stamped it with its ineradi¬ 
cable mark; here and there the old gray stone had 
crumbled away, and, lacking repair, had made a place 
for crows to roost in. The wood facings were cracked 
and rotten, the window frames had long ago lost all 
signs of paint, and held their sagging mullioned panes 
like a thousand ugly and very dirty eyes. To the left 
of it, and joined to the house by a little passageway 
of stone, there rose a queer tower-shaped structure, 
circular in shape, above which the pointed, conical 
roof rose over it like a dunce’s cap. Long arrow 
slits gave it a still weirder appearance, being, as it 
74 


A Gruesome Discovery 75 

was, entirely out of keeping with the architecture of 
the rest of the place. 

“What the dickens is that part, Inspector?” 
queried Cleek, pointing to this portion, but the 
inspector was not quite sure. 

“Dunno, sir. I fancy the old gentleman used that 
as a sort of spare study, and stored his old books 
there, though I only got that from hearsay,” was the 
reply. “But it was built on, I believe, by the last 
tenant of the place, an old gentleman, who were fair 
daft on mediaeval history. Before our time, of 
course, but they calls it the ‘ghost tower,’ and none 
o’ the servants who were here ever went into it. 
Mrs. Buggins ain’t never entered the place that I 
knows of. ’Tisn’t used, I fancy.” 

“H’m. I see. Well, we’ll enter it to-day, at any 
rate, and break open its secret ghostliness. You’ve 
a man coming along, haven’t you?” 

“Yes, sir. On the way now. There’s his bicycle 
up against the side of the house.” 

“Good. Draw up here, Lennard,” addressing 
the chauffeur. “We’re going to get out. That 
window we entered last night should serve us to 
force an entry.” 

The three men descended from the car. Dollops 
hopped off the box-seat and was beside his master in a 
twinkling, and together they walked up to the little 
hall window. 

But it was locked this time! 


76 


The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

“Drat!” ejaculated Dollops fervently, squashing a 
thumbnail in his endeavours. “What’ll we do, sir?” 

“Break a pane, of course, and slip your hand in,” 
Teplied Cleek. “But that’s deuced odd. Someone 
must have been inside, then—even when we went in.” 

He broke a pane, slipped in his hand, and un¬ 
fastened the latch. The casement flew wide with a 
rusty, jarring noise. 

“Now, then, Dollops, in you go, and you, too, my 
man, and then run round to the front and unfasten 
the door for Mr. Narkom to come in. Here, I’ll 
follow you! If there’s anything doing in this house 
of silence, I’m going to be in it.” 

He vaulted on to the shelving sill of the window, 
and jumped down inside the room, followed by 
Dollops and the constable, whom his superior officer 
adressed as “Jake” and whose surname Cleek had 
discovered was Jeffries. 

They found themselves in the little study to which 
Cleek had first been shown. There was the couch 
upon which he had placed the unconscious princeling, 
there the table heaped with its untidy pile of books. 
And over all, with the ineradicable mark of neglect, 
there was a thin sifting of fine dust. 

“Not much of a housekeeper, I must say!” ejacu¬ 
lated Cleek as he hastened through the room, giving 
it a cursory glance, the two men following him. 
Everything was just as it had been upon the preced¬ 
ing night, but in the brilliance of the morning sun- 


A Gruesome Discovery 77 

light Cleek noted one or two things which he had not 
seen before. For instance: the rumpled rugs in the 
study and, on the plain linoleum which covered the 
floor of the passage, the marks of many boot heels 
and a host of scratches, as though someone had had a 
scuffle here, and fought—but how unavailingly he 
did not know—for freedom. 

No time, as yet, to note more. He unfastened the 
barred front door, and threw it open. The superin¬ 
tendent and Cog well fairly fell across the threshold 
in their haste to enter. 

“Now,” said Cleek, “the game’s begun,” and 
they started their search. 

Dollops was apportioned to try the left wing of 
the house, Cleek kept for himself and Mr. Narkom 
the right, which included the “ghost tower” that 
had attracted his curiosity and interest. Jeffries 
tackled the kitchens. The inspector got busy with a 
general survey of the garden. 

“Watch every inch of the place, men. Don’t let 
anything, however small, escape you, and report 
everything to us here,” were Mr. Narkom’s orders. 
Then he and Cleek, revolvers ready to hand in case 
of trouble, started upon their search. 

“ We’ll tackle the tower first. I’ve a fancy we shall 
find some clue there,” said Cleek, leading the way 
into a big room off the hall, which proved to be the 
dining room and was furnished in that heavy hideous- 
ity which goes by the name of Victorian furniture. 


78 


The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

This room held a large dining table covered with a 
red cloth, six chairs with horsehair seats, and a 
shabby horsehair sofa, and a monstrosity of ma¬ 
hogany which did duty as a sideboard and took up 
the right side of the ugly, bare room. It held a lot 
of cupboards, all of which they ransacked for clues. 

But the dining room held nothing. 

“Let’s tackle the tower now, old friend,” was 
Cleek’s verdict after this unfruitful search. But how 
to find the opening? Obviously the tower led off from 
this room, or somewhere very near it, for on looking 
out of the window one found it directly at one’s left. 
The stone passageway which joined it to the house led 
to somewhere—but where? Not a sign of a door or 
entry presented itself. Cleek went outside and looked 
round, then rejoined the waiting superintendent. 

“The place must connect with this room some¬ 
where!” he said, in a sharp tone of excitement. 
“But the point is—where? I’m dashed if I can see. 
There’s not an inch of room to enter by those deuced 
arrow slits. Hello, I say! Look at the floor here! 
Sideboard’s been moved recently, I fancy—in 
spite of the condition of the rest of the house. A 
late spring-cleaning, perhaps. Or else a hidden 
panel in the wall. Lend us your weight, Mr. Nar- 
kom, and we’ll shift it away on this side where the 
marks are; it might tell us something.” 

A good deal of muscle went to the shifting, but— 
it did tell them something of utmost importance. 


A Gruesome Discovery 79 

Cleek’s fingers, sensitive to the slightest touch, 
passed over the hideous wall-paper at the back of 
the sideboard, and came to rest upon a seam which 
caught the tip of his finger. 

“Something here!” he ejaculated, and pressed 
lightly upon the edge of the seam. 

A panel slid back into the wall, revealing an 
aperture about three and a half feet high and a 
couple of feet wide, which led apparently into com¬ 
plete darkness. 

“By James! Cleek-” 

“Carstairs, I beg of you, Mr. Narkom! Who 
knows who might be here to listen to your indiscre¬ 
tions!” returned Cleek with a touch of asperity. 
“And the name’s a by-word which would make it 
unpleasant to encounter an enemy with. Maure- 
vanians and Apaches are all after the man who 
bears that name, and I’m not ready to finish my 
career yet! Best keep to the pseudonym for the 
time being. I’m not trusting that inspector chap 
any further than I can see him!” 

“Cl-Carstairs! You don’t think-? You 

don’t imagine-” began Mr. Narkom in a sibilant 

whisper, stopping on his hands and knees to examine 
the aperture and gazing up into Cleek’s face with 
wide eyes. 

“I don’t know anything, but I imagine a good deal! 
And this is no place to discuss it. Come, my friend. 
Let us enter the lion’s den.” 



80 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

On hands and knees they crept into the aperture, 
and found themselves for a space of two feet in 
complete and cramped darkness. But on the other 
side of the wall there was a gloom of mouldered 
things, and they straightened themselves with some 
relief and looked about them. 

They were in a sort of walled corridor, roughly 
plastered, which had once been painted a dark green, 
but from which the plaster had fallen in huge pieces 
littering the flooring with its decay. 

“What an eerie spot!” ejaculated Mr. Narkom, 
with an obvious shiver. “Eh? What’s that?” 

For somewhere in front of him a mocking voice had 
shrilled “ee-rie s-p-p-o-t!” in long-drawn, high- 
pitched accents. 

Cleek put back his head and laughed heartily for a 
moment. 

“Hello! An echo tower, is it? That, my friend, 
was the mocking echo of your own inimitable voice. 
Sounded rather odd, didn’t it? I’ve never encoun¬ 
tered one of these places in England before. They’re 
very fond of ’em on the continent. Just a matter of 
acoustic properties, you know, but doubtless the 
reason why it has been dubbed the ‘ghost tower.’” 

And “g-h-o-o-s-t tow-wer” echoed the mocking 
voice once more, with an uncanny realism. 

Mr. Narkom dropped his voice to a whisper. 

“Well, I don’t like echo towers, then!” he re¬ 
turned with a slight tremor. “Gives a chap the 


A Gruesome Discovery 81 

very creeps. Come along, let’s get out of it as 
quickly as we can.” 

They pushed forward in the semi-gloom of the 
passage until they came to a door. Cleek whisked 
out his revolver and held it ready in his right hand. 
With his left he cautiously turned the rusty handle. 
It gave grudgingly and swung open, revealing a 
lumber room piled high with books, tumbled here 
and there in utmost confusion. 

To the right a narrow shaft of sunlight pointed like 
a dagger through the arrow slits which took the 
place of windows, and there was a smell of death in 
the air. Involuntarily Cleek stopped in his paces, 
the excited superintendent peering round over his 
shoulder. 

“My God!” he ejaculated. “Over there, Mr. 
Narkom, in that corner—look!” 

The superintendent’s eyes fell upon a fearsome 
sight. 

For there, lying half doubled up on his side, with 
ghastly face turned upward, a look of utmost horror 
stamped upon it, and the sightless eyes staring at 
them, while the red blood half-congealed made an 
ugly puddle on the floor beside him, lay Octavius 
Spender, stabbed to death, and with a sign traced 
roughly in blood upon his forehead! 


CHAPTER XI 


THE “BALANKHA-DAHS” 


G OOD God in Heaven!” It was Mr. Narkom 
' who spoke, as they crept near to the still 
figure and stood a moment looking down at 
it. “Who’s done this dastardly thing? Murdered, 
poor devil!” 

“And with an Indian kris, too, if I know any¬ 
thing,” returned Cleek in a hushed voice. “And 
with the sign of Kali upon his forehead! There’s 
something devilish queer here, Mr. Narkom.” 

“The sign of Kali! What’s that, then?” 

“A Hindoo sign. But what the dickens have 
Hindoos to do with the Amber Ship? Kali is the 
Slayer of Men, my friend, and if this is what I think 
it is, we have still another Eastern element entering 
into the case. It’ll take us the very dickens of a 
time to unravel now. The ‘Balankha-Dahs,’ or 
I’m a Dutchman!” 

“The Balankha-Dahs? What in the name of 
Heaven?” 

“Not now, not now, my friend. I’ll tell you some 
other time. Let us look into the matter in hand 
and see what’s doing. So the old man met his death 
82 


The “Balankha-Dahs” 


83 


last night, then, did he? And it was his scream, 
and not a woman’s, that Hampden and I heard! 
And yet I could have sworn-!” 

Then he looked meditatively down at the grue¬ 
some figure. Mr. Narkom saw a sudden tightening 
of the lips, a sudden upward twitch of the head, 
and marvelled, as Cleek stooped swiftly and began 
wiping the dead face with his handkerchief. He held 
it out covered with smears of brownish-red grease¬ 
paint. 

“Cleek, my dear chap! I don’t understand!” 
said the superintendent in a very fluster of troubled 
incredulity. 

But Cleek was at work again. Bending his fingers 
to the black waistcoat, he began to unbutton it, 
tore away the shirt, and then, to Mr. Narkom’s as¬ 
tonished eyes, revealed the secret that he had so 
suddenly guessed. 

“ See,” he said softly. “ My ear was not mistaken, 
Mr. Narkom. It’s a woman!” 

And a woman it was. A woman of some sixty 
years, with the hard, firm features of a man, and 
with the gray hair cut like a man’s and tousled about 
the ears. A woman—an old woman and a plain one 
—but a woman all the same. 

“Great Scotland Yard!” ejaculated Mr. Narkom 
appropriately. “You’re right, Cleek! And what 
devil’s business can this be? Why was she mas¬ 
querading in man’s clothing?” 



84 The Riddle of the Amber Skip 

“And why had the Chinese boy English hands? 
That’s another riddle for you to solve,” threw in 
Cleek, with a despairing shrug. “The thing’s gone 
deeper than we thought. This woman has been 
dastardly murdered, and her murderer is at present 
at large. Our task is to find him and bring him to 
justice. And to discover the young prince’s where¬ 
abouts. Mr. Narkom, run back, like a good friend, 
and whistle for Dollops and Inspector Cogwell to 
come here immediately. I’ll stay by the body until 
you return.” 

Mr. Narkom went with alacrity, and meanwhile 
Cleek knelt there beside what had once been a 
woman, and tried to piece together the fragments of 
evidence. But nothing dove-tailed. A Chinese 
prince, a sacred jewel—and the sign of Kali the 
Slayer! A Hindoo emblem upon an Englishwoman, 
who should have been a man, in charge of a Chinese 
prince! What did the puzzle mean? He bent down 
and scrutinized the dead lips, then sat back on his 
heels, pursing up his mouth to a faint whistle. 

“I’ll get Dollops to try and identify the likeness, 
for a start, and see what the inspector’s got to say 
about it, too,” he thought, and then got up, care¬ 
fully shifted the lifeless head toward the left, so 
that the patch of rubbed-off grease-paint should not 
show, buttoned up the waistcoat again to hide the 
bare breast, and then went searching round the 
room for further evidence. 


The “ Balankha-Dahs” 


85 


But nothing whatever was forthcoming, and by 
the time he had finished his investigation there came 
the shuffle of approaching footsteps, and Mr. Nar- 
kom, followed by Dollops and Inspector Cogwell, 
entered the chamber. 

Cleek beckoned the boy to him with one finger; 
then pointed down at the murdered woman. 

Dollops gave a gasp and went white as chalk. 

“ Gawdamussy!” he exclaimed hoarsely. “That 
there’s the ole gentleman wot I shaddered larst 
night, sir! Leastwise it looks jis’ like ’im. And 
dead as a doornail, too!” 

Cleek laid a hand upon the lad’s shoulder, shaking 
his head meanwhile. 

“No, Dollops,” said he, “that isn’t Mr. Octavius 
Spender; that’s a woman!” 

“A wumman? Gov’nor you’re gone darft, you 
’ave, meanin’ no disrespec’! That ain’t no wum¬ 
man, sir! That there’s the gen’leman I was a- 
follerin’ larst night, I’ll swear it!” 

Cleek beckoned to the inspector. “You know who 
that is?” he said, as the man stood forward. 

“My God! yes, sir. That’s Mr. Spender himself. 
And foully murdered! ’Oo could have done it? 
And as nice an old gentleman as ever lived. That 
ain’t no woman, sir, I’ll swear. That’s ’im what’s 
lived and worked among us here this past twenty 
year.” 

“And that’s just exactly where you’re wrong 


86 


The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

again, Inspector,” returned Cleek serenely, stooping 
and turning the head round, so as to show the patch 
of pale skin, where the paint had been rubbed off. 
“Made up, you see. Even these lines about the 
mouth and eyes.” 

“Call the doctor, Dollops,” he said. “Or, no. 
Jeffries had better be sent. This thing must pro¬ 
ceed in the ordinary fashion. The doctor shall 
make his usual examination, and give his report. 
Then we can get to business. Any of the rest of 
you discover anything? Dollops”—as the inspector, 
supplying his “No” in a shaken voice, turned upon 
his heel and made off in the direction of Jeffries to 
give his orders—“what luck did you have?” 

“None, sir.” 

“Well, we’ve enough here to occupy us. No 
doubt the murderer of this poor woman has made 
off with the prince and the Amber Ship as well. 
I wonder how long that chap’ll be fetching the 
doctor?” 

He was not long, fortunately, for, as it happened, 
the doctor was close at hand, on his way to a case, 
as he explained later, and Jeffries returned with him 
almost at once. He came into the room with that 
light, buoyant, almost soundless step that one 
associates with the medical profession. He was 
small and slight, narrow-hipped, and with long, deli¬ 
cate hands with the spatulate fingertips of the true 
surgeon. His face was finely chiselled, with dark, 


The “Balanlcha-Dahs” 


87 


liquid brown eyes set under narrow black brows; a 
small dark moustache covered his upper lip, and 
when his lips moved one caught a glimpse of perfect 
ivory-white teeth. 

“ Handsome devil!” thought Cleek as he shook 
hands with him. Then he turned to his unpleasant 
task. 

“Doctor,” said he, “we’ve a murder here, and we 
need your assistance. You can identify the victim?” 

The doctor moved quietly into the center of the 
group, and stood by Cleek, looking down at the 
crumpled body before him. It was not a pleasant 
sight, and even a doctor may be forgiven some slight 
signs of agitation. For his thin face paled, and a 
hint of emotion showed itself in his clear voice. 

“Why,” said he, “that was my dear old friend, 
Mr. Spender, Mr. Octavius Spender, who lived in 
this house! Many’s the evening we’ve spent to¬ 
gether here—but never in this room. Poor chap! 
I’m sorry—desperately sorry. What place is this?” 

Cleek’s eyes roved round the room. 

“An echo chamber,” he returned. “Wdiatthe 
servants called the ghost tower. Mr. Spender 
never took you in here, then, may I ask?” 

The doctor shook his head. 

“Never. He always told me it was simply used as 
a storehouse for his books. And when I saw just 
now that one entered by the back of the sideboard 
-! Really, one had no idea of such a thing. 


88 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

Poor old chap! Who could have done this dastardly 
deed?” 

“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” put in 
Mr. Narkom excitedly. “You identify the—er— 
gentleman, Doctor, as Mr. Spender, who lived here 
for some twenty years?” 

“I do.” 

“But you ain’t lived here as long as that yourself, 
sir,” quietly put in the inspector at this juncture, 
and Cleek gave him a nod of approval. 

“No, that I haven’t. I’ve only taken old Doctor 
Beddingfold’s practice while he’s getting strong,” he 
explained for Cleek’s and Mr. Narkom’s informa- 
tion. “But during the seven months of my stay 
in this village old Mr. Spender and myself have be¬ 
come most friendly, most intimate. And now- 

Good God! it’s terrible! Almost unbelievable, if 
one had not the evidence of one’s own eyes!” 

“But there’s something even more unbelievable 
than the crime itself. Doctor,” put in Cleek quietly 
as he stooped and turned the face round again. 
“Just look here. What do you make of that?” 

The doctor stooped, too, gave out a gasp, gave one 
horrified look at the bared breast, and then gazed at 
the faces of the onlookers like a man startled out of 
his wits. 

“Good Heaven above —a woman!" 



CHAPTER XII 


THE SIGN OF KALI 


E xactly.” 

“Then, all the time—you can’t mean that 
Mr. Spender was—wasn’t a man, after all— 
surely? That’s an impossible suggestion.” 

“And one which we are in no position to corrob¬ 
orate, not knowing the supposed gentleman as you 
did,” replied Cleek, with a shake of the head. “That 
is where Mr. Narkom and I are entirely in the dark; 
where, in fact, we must rely upon yours and the 
inspector’s evidence. Do you feel sure, Doctor, 
that this is the same unfortunate person with whom 
you came so much in contact?” 

“I—I hardly dare to think. To all intents and 
purposes, yes. But to a doctor’s knowledge of 
him—no!” 


“Ah! that should prove conclusive. He consulted 
you, then, upon some occasion?” 

“Never professionally. But knowing him—talk¬ 
ing with him- It’s a puzzle, every way you 

look at it!” replied the doctor, biting his lip and 
frowning down at the huddled figure, so appallingly 
still in the midst of all this life and movement. 


89 



90 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

“I couldn’t swear to it, of course; and yet one’s 

instinct- But, good God! who could have done 

this thing? And for what reason?” 

Cleek looked at Mr. Narkom’s puzzled coun¬ 
tenance, and then back into the dark eyes of the 
professional man. 

4 ‘Then you never heard of the arrival of the Am¬ 
ber Ship?” 

“Amber Ship?” The doctor’s voice ran up a tiny 
scale of amazement. “What’s that? I heard of a 
young Chinese prince he was going to look after; son 
of a friend of his in China, I believe, or so he told 
me. But he wasn’t due here in England for another 
month or so.” 

“He arrived yesterday, bearing upon his person 
the Amber Ship, the sacred jewel of a very famous 
order,” returned Cleek, in his grave, quiet voice. 

“Yesterday? Then where is he now?” 

“Gone! And the Amber Ship, too! And the 
Chinese servant he brought with him, and the 
Chinese boy who served Mr. Spender for so many 
years. They are all gone! Spirited away in some 
mysterious fashion by some mysterious agency. And 
how, I haven’t the very ghost of a notion.” 

“Great heavens above!” Cleek noticed the doc¬ 
tor’s very genuine amazement. He was either a good 
actor or completely ignorant of the whole affair. 
But in a case of this kind it was necessary to keep 
awake to every shade of inflection in voice or gesture 


91 


The Sign of Kali 

made by any one who had come in contact with 
the unfortunate victim. The doctor’s grief in his 
friend’s untimely death seemed sincere. Then a 
thunderbolt dropped upon them in his next words. 

“The Amber Ship is a rare jewel, then, and 
naturally all the jewel-thieves in the kingdom would 
be on the watch for it,” said the doctor in a suddenly 

scared voice. “And that, perhaps, was why- 

But it’s unthinkable, impossible! I won’t even make 
the suggestion.” 

“What suggestion?” 

“That young Brentwood, the squire’s son, could 
be in any way implicated in the affair. And yet, 
yesterday morning, when I was motoring by here, 
I saw him standing in the drive by the gate, talking 
to Mr. Spender, and distinctly heard his voice raised 
in protest, saying to the old man, ‘Just a glimpse, sir! 
I simply must, and it will do no harm to any one. 
I’ve promised my employer, and he wants a copy 
made for exhibition purposes.’ And, Mr.—er—• 
Carstairs, he is employed with a big firm of jewellers 
in the city. Now, how would you interpret that?” 

Mr. Narkom’s jolly fat face turned red with ex¬ 
citement. 

“As a good clue, my dear sir, a very good clue!” 
he struck in before Cleek could get a word out of his 
mouth. “That’s something to go on, at all events! 
It was the Amber Ship he spoke of, naturally. And 
wanted old Spender to show it to him when the prince 


92 


The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

arrived—to lend it to him, in fact, so that his employer 
could see it? And then give him a chance to make 
off with it straightaway! Cinnamon, old chap, but 
there’s the first clue right to our hands. You’ve 
done us an excellent turn, Doctor, in telling us that. 
Who knows what it may lead to?” 

“Let us hope to the tracing of the rightful per¬ 
petrator of this abominable crime,” returned the 
doctor gravely. “For my part, I would never sus¬ 
pect young Brentwood. And yet what could his 
words mean?” 

“I’d like to know where the young gentleman 
hangs out, and have a talk with him before I answer 
that question.” It was Cleek who spoke, as he 
turned to Dollops and, taking out his notebook, 
scribbled something on a leaf of it, tore it out, and 
put it into the lad’s hands. “Here, Dollops, look 
into this as quickly as you can, and report to me. 
Oh, and. Doctor, do you happen to know if this Mr. 
Brentwood is keen on photography at all?” 

The doctor looked frankly amazed. 

“Really, I don’t know. He has a small kodak as 
most young men have, and I saw him taking a photo 
of Miss Ellison, the squire’s nurse,a day or so ago; but 
I’ve not seen the prints yet. Why do you ask?” 

“Oh, I’ll explain in a moment or two. But if 
you’ll make your examination now, and give a cer¬ 
tificate of what you think death was due to-” 

“Stabbing, of course.” The doctor knelt, un- 



93 


The Sign of Kali 

buttoned the clothing, and made a proper medical 
examination while Cleek, Mr. Narkom, and the 
puzzled inspector stood over him. He pointed to 
the jagged wound under the heart. 

“Some weird kind of a knife made that cut,” he 
said, sitting back upon his heels and looking up into* 
Cleek’s face. “I’ve never seen a wound like that 
before. Looks as though the blade were curved, 
and what’s that upon the forehead? That horrible 
sign in blood? Ghastly affair, altogether! It’s a 
good thing we doctors are strong-nerved, to stand 
the racket of some of the duties that fall to us!” 

“It is.” Cleek knelt down and examined the 
marks upon the forehead as though he had never 
f:een them before. “I’ve not the ghost of a notion 
what that can be. Some sacred symbol, probably.. 
See, a roughly drawn curve with a line through it. 
Chinese, possibly, or Malayan. They do things like 
that in those heathenish places. Which proves the 
foreign element in the affair, doesn’t it? Then you 
make death due to stabbing, I suppose?” 

“What else?” The doctor glanced up curiously. 

“Just look at the lips and mouth with your magni¬ 
fying glass, and tell me if you can add anything to 
the certificate?” 

“ Carstairs, my dear chap, what in the world makes 
you say that?” said Mr. Narkom with excitement, 
getting down upon his knees to the floor the better 
to view the procedure. “Death was due to stabbing 


94 


The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

by persons unknown, obviously. What’s wrong with 
the lips, eh?” 

“A good deal, as the doctor will tell you. See 
that whitish substance. Doctor? Just there on the 
point of the tongue and in the corners of the mouth? 
What would you say that was, from a medical man’s 
view?” 

The doctor touched the dead lips with his finger. 
Some of the powdery substance came away upon the 
tip. He gazed at it with knit brows. 

“Looks like salt, but of course it isn’t. I’d have to 
analyze it before giving my verdict.” 

“I wouldn’t. That’s cyanide of potassium, and 
poison has been added to this mystery,” returned 
Cleek sharply. “Making two persons implicated 
therein. Unless the thing was put there as a blind. 
The natural saliva in the mouth dissolved a goodly 
part of it, but a little still remains.” 

“You think that? Then how came it to be ad¬ 
ministered to an already dead man—or, rather, 
woman?” 

“ That’s for us to find out.” Cleek’s voice dropped 
a tone or two, then he flashed a quick look into the 
doctor’s face. “Your question of a moment ago is 
answered. You will realize now why I asked it. 
Cyanide of potassium, as you doubtless know, Doctor, 
is one of the components used in developing photo¬ 
graphic films. That, Mr. Narkom, is what I would 
call clue number two.” 


95 


The Sign of Kali 

“ C—Carstairs! Really, you’re an amazing chap! 
When did you find this out?” 

Cleek got to his feet with a slight smile, dusting 
the dirt from his trouser-knees with his handkerchief. 

“While you were fetching the inspector,” he re¬ 
plied off handedly. “That’s what you pay me for, 
my dear chap, to use the wits God gave me. But,” 
his face became suddenly grim, “it begins to look 
black against this young Brentwood upon the face of 
it. Tell us everything you know about him, Doctor, 
will you? Without h&lp, you understand, it is 
difficult to see in the dark.” 

The doctor rose, too, took out his notebook, 
scribbled in it a moment, making notes of the case,, 
and then, pocketing it, gave his attention to Cleek. 

“Of course I’ll do anything in the world I can to 
elucidate matters,” he said politely, “but one hardly 
likes to give evidence against a friend, Mr. Carstairs. 
And young Brentwood and I have been fairly in¬ 
timate ever since I’ve been here. His father, the 
squire of the place, Sir George, who lives up at the 
Manor House, is a patient of mine, and I am nat¬ 
urally in their house a good deal. So of course I 
got into touch with the son, in one way and another, 
and found him a shiftless but nice fellow, although a 
thorn in the side of his father and mother.” 

“In what way?” 

“Oh!” the doctor turned to Cleek, who had ad¬ 
dressed the question, “because of his inability to 


96 


The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

settle to any decent work. The young man is a 
gambler, and, true to type, willing therefore to beg, 
borrow, or steal, to get money enough to back his 
precious horses. That’s been the cause of many 
quarrels with the old man, and I have warned Frank 
of the danger of enraging his father.” 

“What does he suffer from, then, may I ask?” 

“It’s a sort of hysteria, really, in which the brain 
cells get congested. Any great excitement will 
bring it on, and at these times there is no knowing 
just what Sir George might do. After they are over 
he has no recollection of them at all.” 

“I see. And is he usually a pleasant-tempered, 
kindly man?” 

The doctor smiled. “Hardly. I think that is one 
reason why the son is always away from home. Sir 
George is gouty, and you know what that means. 
An irascible temper, an abominable digestion, and a 
rapier-like tongue!” 

“Quite a triple alliance of abomination!” put in 
Gleek, with a shrug of the shoulders. “And how 
does Lady Brentwood take her husband’s ailments?” 

“Half frightened out of her wits, poor thing!” said 
the doctor, with a touch of compassion. “She is a 
highly strung, nervous woman herself, and her hus¬ 
band puts her into continual terror. She lives in 
mortal dread of him, and leans enormously upon Miss 
Ellison.” 


“And who is she?” 


97 


The Sign of Kali 

The inspector thought it was time he put in a word. 

“That there young lady we met in the lane, sir-” 

he began, and then tailed off into silence at Cleek’s 
quick frown. Doctor Hunter raised surprised brows. 

“Oh, you met her out, did you? When was 
that?” 

“This morning. She was running to the post.” 
Cleek’s eyebrow flicked in the inspector’s direction, 
commanding silence. “Inspector Cogwell here gave 
me her name. I had quite forgotten it. Does she 
live at the Manor, then?” 

“Yes, as nurse to the squire. A pleasant, pretty 
girl, and a great help to Lady Brentwood, though 
I’m afraid the son forces his attentions upon her 
rather unpleasantly. She’s spoken to me several 
times about it, but it’s difficult, as you must know, 
for a doctor to take any part in—er—family affairs 
without engaging the rancour of some one member 
of its circle.” 

“Naturally. One of the principal virtues in a 
medico’s make-up is tact,” returned Cleek with a 
little smile, “and you seem to have plenty of that. 
Doctor. Well, is there anything more you can tell 
us? How came the young man to take work with a 
jeweller’s? It seems hardly suitable for the son of 
the Manor of such a place as this. They are usually 
the most difficult in questions of trade.” 

“Precisely. But the squire turned Frank out of 
the house a fortnight ago—it was over some question 


98 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

of racing debts, I believe—and told him never to 
darken bis doors again. And he had to do some¬ 
thing for a livelihood, I suppose. I believe, in fact, 
that he came across an old friend who put him on to 
his present job.” 

“Then what is he doing down here in his home 
village, talking with Mr. Spender in the morning, 
when he ought to be at work?” put in Cleek gently. 
“Can you answer me that?” 

“In one way only. Either he has left his job, 
someone has lent him some money, or he is on some 
unexpected holiday,” returned the doctor with a 
smile and a shrug. “Well, I’ve told you all I know, 
gentlemen, and I must be off about my work. I’ll 
send you a certificate round to the station, Mr. 
Narkom.” 

“Thank you.” Mr. Narkom shook hands warmly 
with the handsome doctor, as Cleek escorted him off 
the premises. At the front door he paused a mo¬ 
ment, and leant confidentially forward. 

“Tell me one thing more, Doctor, although I ad¬ 
mit I am encroaching upon professional secrets: 
Who in the Manor House uses drugs?” 

The doctor gave him a quick, keen glance. 

“I oughtn’t to answer that question, Mr. Car- 
stairs,” he said quietly, “but I know the difficult 
problem you have to tackle. Sir George has in¬ 
jections now and then—administered by me. I’ve 
had my doubts of Frank Brentwood for a long time. 


The Sign of Kali 99 

And if he adds drugs to dissipation, he’ll travel down¬ 
hill at a quick rate. Good-bye.” 

“Good-bye/’ returned Cleek pleasantly, and shut 
the door just as Jeffries came tearing up to him at a 
great rate, his eyes scared, his whole face fallen and 
pale. 

“Mr. Carstairs, sir!” he gasped out, thumping his 
chest for breath. “My mate, wot joined me a while 
ago, and I ’ave been a-lookin’ round the basement, 
and we’ve found somethin’!” 

“What?” 

Jeffries’ eyes fairly goggled with excitement. “A 
dead Chinee, sir, with a crimson sign on his fore¬ 
head which looked as though it had been done in his 
own blood!” 

A crimson mark in blood upon his forehead! 
Cleek’s face grew grim. For the second time that 
morning they had found the sinister sign of Kali the 
Slayer. 


CHAPTER XIII 


“sleeping dogs ...” 

LD the way, Jeffries,” he rapped out sharply. 



“and I’ll sing out for Mr. Narkom as we 


^^ pass. Hi, there!” as they came to the 
dining-room door before swinging off to the left and 
down the servants’ staircase to the basement. “ Come 
along, Mr. Narkom! There’s another of ’em found! 
Lock that door, there’s a good chap, and bring along 
the key with you.” 

“What’s that? Another! Oh, wait a minute, I’m 
coming!” came back the superintendent’s voice, and 
in a moment or two Mr. Narkom’s portly figure ap¬ 
peared and joined them in their descent to the base¬ 
ment. 

“Another of them found, you say?” he ejaculated 
as they hastily descended. “Where, and who?” 

“I haven’t the dickens of a notion who, but down 
in the cellars somewhere. This the place, Jeffries? 
It’s a Chink, you say? Not the little prince, please 
God! That would be failing in a trust indeed!” 

It did not prove to be the prince, and the moment 
Cleek’s eyes were clapped upon the body he rec¬ 
ognized it as the boy who had served Mr. Spender. 


100 


“Sleeping Dogs ...” 101 

There was a bullet-wound through the temple, 
and the sinister sign of Kali traced roughly in blood 
upon the forehead. 

“The chap with the navvy’s hands!” He got 
down on one knee and scrutinized the dead man’s 
face carefully. But in the semi-gloom of the cellar 
very little was visible. “Here, lend me a torch, 
somebody. I left mine in my overcoat pocket in 
the car. Thank you, Jeffries.” The spot of light 
illuminated the rigid features with the cold clarity of 
electricity. Cleek gave out a sudden exclamation. 
“Just as I thought! . . . Mr. Narkom, what 

does that man’s face suggest to you?” 

The superintendent peered down into it short¬ 
sightedly. 

“Make-up, of course!” he announced. “Cleverly 
done, too! Here, what are you doing, my dear 
chap?” 

“Just proving to myself the truth of my own 
theory.” While speaking, Cleek’s hands were busy. 
He lifted the inert head and flicked off the tightly 
fitting skull-cap and false forehead which had fitted 
down above the brows, and which, in the gloomy 
hall the night before, he had never noticed to be an 
imposture. Forehead and pigtail came off together, 
and underneath was revealed to their astonished eyes 
the bullet-shaped cranium of the lowest order of 
Anglo-Saxon criminal. 

“Good God! A white man!” ejaculated Mr. 


102 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

Narkom. “ I know that forehead! Wipe the paint off 
the face, will you, and those false strappings from the 
corners of the eyes to hold them slantwise? We’ve 
a photo of the gentleman in the Rogues’ Gallery 
at headquarters! Here is luck! Jim the Cracksman, 
wanted for a score of jewel thefts, and as slick a hand 
at disappearance as ever the Yard had wind of!” 

“Whew!” Jeffries whistled with astonishment. 
Things were happening a little faster than could be 
followed in his vision. He winked an eye at his mate 
as if to say, “When the real ’tecs get on the job, 
something’s done!” 

“Yes, that’s Jim the Cracksman, all right! And 
the same chap who showed me out last night, and 
whose hands I noticed as white—in spite of the ex¬ 
cellent make-up otherwise. Mr. Spender’s boy! 
Now the thing to get at is whether the old gentle¬ 
man employed this man with a reason, or whether 
the real boy had been done away with first, his clothes 
pinched by Jim, and the impersonation carried 
through simply for the one evening, and unbe¬ 
known to his employer. As the French say, ‘it 
gives one to think,’ doesn’t it? This house must 
have been a hive of jewel thieves, Mr. Narkom, 
humming the long night through with the Amber 
Ship as their ultimate goal. One thing we know for 
certain.” 

“And what’s that?” 

“Simply that Jim didn’t succeed in his mission— 


66 Sleeping Dogs ... 99 103 

by this revelation here. Whether one of his mates 
got hold of the jewel and the prince, we don’t know. 
But from my knowledge of Jim’s methods, he al¬ 
ways worked alone.” 

“Yes, that was the dickens of tracking him, there 
were no others to squeal and give away his hiding 
places,” responded the superintendent with vigour. 
“He always disposed of the goods abroad, and then 
made off to some foreign clime until the noise had 
died down and surveillance was relaxed. One of 
the single-handers was Jim. The chief’ll be glad to 
hear of this, anyway. There’s been a loop of rope 
dangling for Jim ever since he shot that woman in 
that lone farmhouse in Essex. Searched anywhere 
else, Jeffries?” 

“Not yet, sir. Only scoured the kitchens, but 
never touched upon these here cellars at all.” 

Cleek got to his feet rapidly. “W T ell, there’s 
several yet to account for,” he said, ticking off the 
number on his fingers, “quite apart from any un¬ 
knowns that were in this house last night. First 
and foremost, there’s the woman who impersonated 
Mr. Spender. Whether she was out for the jewel or 1 
not I can’t say. Her extraordinary likeness to the 
old man whom Dollops tracked gives one to think 
that she must be some near relation. And an Ox¬ 
ford don isn’t usually mixed up with a set of crooks— 
at any rate, not women crooks who are connections 
of his own family. It appears that he had no rela- 


104 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

tives to the inspector’s knowledge. Lived alone 
here. And we’re pretty sure that he is alive some¬ 
where up in London, off the Edgware Road. At any 
rate, was alive as late as after ten o’clock last night. 
Dollops has proved that.” 

“Dollops? How did he know, then?” 

“Because I put him on the track of him. But how 
this woman got here is another question. Anyway, 
the real Octavius Spender is practically accounted 
for. Here’s the chap who acted as boy for the one 
night, at any rate. And it’s not likely that Mr. 
Spender would have put up with such an appall¬ 
ing sham as this man’s make-up without some of 
the people here finding the thing out. Put him 
in the daylight, walking down a street, and even the 
kiddies would recognize him for the fake he was. 
So that point’s dispensed with, I think. That 
leaves the original boy to be found, the young prince, 
and Ah Sing, his Chinese servitor, who, if I know 
anything of human nature, was as true to his young 
master as you, Mr. Narkom, to the tenets of the 
Yard. I’d stake my life on his sincerity and loyalty.” 

Mr. Narkom watched Cleek’s face with interested 
eyes. “That’s three to be accounted for, then?” 
he said. 

“Yes. The original boy, the young prince, and 
the servant who travelled down in the motor with 
me yesterday afternoon. You men have got to get 
busy, Jeffries, and scour the place from top to 


“ Sleeping Dogs . 


105 


99 


bottom for traces of either of these three men. 
Search every corner of the grounds, every bush and 
shrub, and bring any shred of evidence straight to 
Mr. Narkom or me. A piece of cotton will some¬ 
times connect up the chain of circumstantial evi¬ 
dence. See that your eyes don’t miss the tiny threads 
in looking for the bigger things. I think they can 
go now, Mr. Narkom, don’t you? We’ll see to this 
chap, until he can be taken away to the proper 
quarters.” 

“Very good, sir.” The two constables saluted 
and withdrew, leaving Cleek and the superintendent 
standing there in the shadows of the dusty wine- 
cellar, which, from all evidences, had been used as 
a storeroom as well, for many trunks and boxes of 
ancient pattern were stacked up one upon the other 
along the walls, and one box, not fastened because 
of its overflowing condition, revealed a pile of dis¬ 
orderly papers and books. Over all lay the thick 
dust of years, and not one of the boxes had been re¬ 
cently disturbed: that was quickly seen. 

“No need to waste time examining those, any¬ 
how,” said Cleek, pointing to them. “The thing 
is to get at the real perpetrator of these two crimes, 
for that they were done by the same hand is obvious 
by the sign of Kali upon the forehead.” 

“Which reminds me, my dear chap,”whispered Mr. 
Narkom. “Why did you not tell the doctor what 
that sign stood for?” 


106 


The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

Cleek shook his head at his superior officer with a 
weary smile. 

“My dear Mr. Narkom,” he explained, “surely 
your own excellent training should tell you that 
everyone is a suspect until he is proved innocent. 
And the handsome doctor had to be included in that 
category for safety’s sake. It’s never wise to tell 
everything you know, even to the veriest innocent. 
Our medical friend might go blazoning the thing 
abroad all over the neighbourhood, and any possible 
perpetrators of the crime who were in hiding would 
get a chance to decamp and cover up tracks before 
we’d got a line on ’em.” 

Mr. Narkom nodded meditatively, looking down 
meanwhile at the sinister figure of the dead crook. 

“Yes, perhaps you’re right. This chap’s been 
shot, Cleek, not killed with the same kind of knife 
as the woman. Yet you think it is the same hand, 
do you?” 

“ I do. By reason of the sign. If you’re a student 
of chirography, Mr. Narkom, you’ll realize that the 
person who made that hieroglyphic symbol on the 
one forehead made it on the other. The turns of 
the wrist are identical, even in anything so roughly 
done as this.” 

“Cinnamon! old chap, what a pair of eyes you 
have!” 

“You’d be more than short-sighted to miss that 
point,” returned Cleek rapidly. “Hello—look here! 


“Sleeping Dogs ...” 107 

What’s in the chap’s fingers?” He caught up the 
dead hand and slowly bent back the stiffened joints, 
loosening as he did so a fragment of blue embroid¬ 
ered material, about half an inch wide, of the kind 
that one finds attached to table-centres and mats of 
Chinese make by means of a special kind of glue 
that takes the place of sewing. “That’s a scrap 
off the young prince’s dark-blue tunic. I noticed 
this bordering ran round the top of his neck, each 
sleeve, and at the base of the coat. Comes off at 
the slightest pull, too. And that proves something, 
anyway.” 

Mr. Narkom let out a gasp of amazement. 

“What does it prove, then?” he demanded in 
tones of keenest curiosity. “Is it a clue, Cleek?” 

“My name for the nonce is Carstairs, and I’d be 
glad if you’d remember it, old friend. And it is a 
clue, of sorts!” said Cleek in lowered tones, glancing 
hurriedly about him to see if any one had heard 
Mr. Narkom’s indiscretion. “And it proves a very 
simple but helpful point. The young prince was 
downstairs in this room and in the company of this 
man when he met his death. He had, in fact, got 
hold of the boy, and was shot, probably from over 
there in the doorway, by some unknown assailant. 
The prince, feeling the loosening fingers upon his 
person, pulled away as the man fell, and Jim’s 
fingers tore off a little of the narrow embroidery at 
the bottom of his coat.” 


108 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

He paused a moment, looking down at the frag¬ 
ment in his hands before continuing further. 

“Ever think, Mr. Narkom, why that boy was so 
stupefied with drugs as to be half-asleep, as he was, 
when we met him?” he said serenely, studying his 
fingernails. 

The superintendent shook his head, and replied 
with emphasis: “I suppose an opium pipe, of course. 
Chinamen are much given to that sort of thing, aren’t 
they?” 

“Yes. But I’ve my own inferences drawn upon 
the condition of the boy, and that isn’t one of ’em. 
If you ask me, he was deliberately drugged, whether 
on the train or beforehand I cannot tell you, but he 
was drugged with a purpose. And if you had been 
as quick-sighted as I was, you would have seen that 
his servant administered a further potion into his 
cup of black coffee.” 

“His servant? My dear chap, you must have 
been dreaming!” Mr. Narkom’s voice rose with 
astonished incredulity. “Why, you yourself just 
made the statement that that man was loyalty per¬ 
sonified to his young master. And to drug him 
deliberately!” 

“Ah Sing knew more about his young master than 
either you or I do,” replied Cleek, “and Ah Sing did 
the best thing he knew to protect him.” 

“To protect him? Oh, hardly that.” 

“Well, have it your own way, then. We’ll agree 


“Sleeping Dogs . . 109 

to disagree, and we’d better be making tracks now, 
or the inspector will think we’ve forgotten him alto¬ 
gether, or given him meet punishment for neglect 
of duty by leaving him all day with the body of a 
murdered woman.” 


CHAPTER XIV 


ENTER THE APACHES 

W HEN the usual preliminaries were over, and 
the victims of this unfortunate affair dis¬ 
posed of according to police regulations, 
Cleek turned his attention to finding rooms in the 
village for Mr. Narkom and himself. 

“We must get to the bottom of the thing inside of 
a week, old friend,” he told the superintendent, 
as they approached the Golden Arm—a hostelry 
recommended to them by the inspector. 

“I can’t spare too much time, though, Cleek. 
The chief’ll be wanting some sort of a report on 
those drug-traffickers we’ve been trying to lay hands 
on lately.” 

“We’ll perhaps kill two birds with one stone. If 
we follow one track to its close, it may lead us in 
sight of the other one. Don’t forget that the 
Governor of Kwang-Tin will be requiring news of his 
son’s safety by letter beyond the ordinary cable 
you sent him upon his arrival, and that letter must 

not be too long delayed. If the boy’s alive-” 

“You don’t for one moment imagine that he isn’t, 
then?” 


no 



Ill 


Enter the Apaches 

Cleek looked at his friend with something of pity 
in his gaze. “My dear Mr. Narkom,” said he, 
“when a man is willing to shoot another man, and the 
gang of the Balankha-Dahs is on the warpath, a 
mere matter of taking life becomes a bagatelle. 
The prince’s safety will lie simply in his possible 
knowledge of hiding the jewel. If that jewel has 
been discovered upon his person, then his body is 
best out of the way at once. I’m banking on a 
foolish possibility, maybe, but I’ve a fancy that 
that boy has perspicacity and wit, and will try his 
level best to meet the difficulties of the case some¬ 
how.” 

“Then you think the jewel is somewhere to be 
found?” 

“Who knows? It might be over the German 
border by now; it might even be here, in this snug 
little village 'where nothing ever happens,’ to quote 
our worthy friend, Cogwell. That is beyond mere 
man’s vision. What I think is that there is more in 
this thing than meets the average eye, and that it 
will take some tracing before we get to the bottom 
of the affair. So this is the Golden Arm, is it? Not 
such a bad-looking place, after all, though I wouldn’t 
have trusted the inspector’s judgment in other things 
quite so readily.” 

They hove in sight of a little hostelry as he spoke, 
and saw it to be a timbered Elizabethan building 
with a hanging sign of a golden arm suspended from 


112 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

the ornamental post over the door, and the window 
boxes ablaze with scarlet geraniums. 

“Prosperous-looking little dug-out, I must say! 
If the interior is as charming as the exterior, this 
little trip to Upminster savours something of a 
country holiday, Mr. Narkom,” remarked Cleek as 
they walked up the pathway and entered the oak- 
panelled hall. “Chap who runs this is go-ahead, 
anyway. Telephone all handy. I’d like a glimpse 
of the Visitors’ Book if I can get it. Just for mere 
curiosity’s sake.” 

“The Visitors’ Book is there, sir,” put in a voice 
at this juncture, and Cleek turned to find himself 
looking into the face of a trim barmaid with white 
apron and stiffly starched rosette set among her 
golden coils of hair, by which token she told the 
world at large that she was not yet one of the emanci¬ 
pated ones who scorned the badge of uniform in 
servitude. 

Cleek smiled at her, and Mr. Narkom cocked an 
interested eye. She seemed capable of managing 
them both at once—a fact which amused them 
immensely. 

“Got some interestin’ names ’ere, we ’ave,” she 
said, as she gave smile for smile and flickered her 
eyelids in a most provocative manner. “You’re 
thinkin’ of takin’ rooms, I suppose? Won’t do no 
better in the village, I can tell you. Mr. ’Arkless 
is a Lunnon gentleman and knows a thing or two 


113 


Enter the Apaches 

about managin’ ’otels and such-like. Minute ’e 
come down here, the rooms was full up. T’other 
chap couldn’t make it pay nohow.” 

“Oh, indeed! Then the present manager has 
only recently taken it over, I suppose?” put in Cleek 
with a smile which took her instantly. 

“Matter of months, sir. Two, I thinks, or at 
best three. I was with t’other chap for a year be¬ 
fore, and takes over along of Mr. ’Arkless. He tells 
me I’m smart-lookin’ and bright, and treats me 
fair, which is all I’m arskin’ of annybody. And 
raises me wages regular every six months, so he’s 
promised.” 

“Quite a perfect employer, then?” returned Cleek, 
with a flicker of his eyelid in Mr. Narkom’s direction. 
“And so you’re pretty full up, are you? Now I 
wonder, my dear chap, if any of our own friends are 
staying here for a brief holiday, like we are.” 

“If you looks in the book you might find some of 
’em,” put in the maid, Betsy, quickly, with a smile 
for each. “There’s squire’s son stayin’ here for a 
few days’ hollerday, such a nice young feller ’e is, 
too! Sweet on that there young nurse as is up at the 
Manor ’Ouse, and ’er taken with ’im, too, I’d say, 
by the look of things.” 

“That’ll be young Mr. Frank Brentwood, I take 
it?” said Cleek, interrupting the flow of confidential 
talk with which she seemed anxious to flood them. 
“And the nurse’s name is Miss Ellison, I believe. 


114 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

I met her yesterday. A pretty, dark girl, with big 
brown eyes. That the lady?” 

Betsy sniffed. She was obviously a trifle jealous 
of Miss Ellison’s personal charms. 

“Yes, that’s ’er. And as for pretty, well, them 
as likes that kind of mustard-and-water complexion 
kin ’ave it. Always pale is Miss Ellison, and always 
worrited. Fair gives you the ’ump to look at ’er.” 

“You’re from London yourself, aren’t you?” said 
Cleek with a smile for her Cockney accent. “In 
spite of the country roses in your cheeks? Ah! 
I thought so. No mustard-and-water about your 
face, is there? Peaches-and-cream more in your 
line, eh? And who else of interest is staying here, 
can you tell me?” 

She bridled under the compliment and tossed her 
shoulders with self-conscious pleasure. 

“Oh, one old gentleman ’oo says he is a lawyer; 
a party of them there ’Mericans—orful smart and 
stylish the ladies is, too!—old Miss Beverley, ’oo’s 
come a-visitin’ ’er friend Miss Prudence what lives 
in Rose Cottage and always ’as a kind word fer 
everyone, bless ’er! And a young couple ’oo’s on 
their ’oneymoon! Like a couple of turtle-doves wiv 
their ‘Yes, darlin” and ‘No, sweet’eart’ every ten 
seconds! Don’t know uvver folk live in the world, 
they don’t! And ’er wiv ’er bold black eyes and ’er 
smart ’ats and all.” Betsy burst into a little 
giggle of merriment that was very contagious. 


115 


Enter the Apaches 

“ ’E’s fair Frenchy, ’e is, little turned-up la-di-da 
moustache, and a pint er brilliantine a-shinin’ like 
brass polish on ’is ’air! Fair makes you burst wiv 
larfin’ it does, and-” 

“Betsy! Betsy!” shrilled a voice from below 
stairs, and Betsy stopped in her reminiscences. 
With a “You’ll find Mr. ’Arkless in his orfice, bottom 
of this corridor, little door marked ‘Private,’” she 
dashed off noisily in the direction of the unseen 
caller, shrilling as she went, “ Com-ing, Miss Farcee! 
Com-ing!” 

Cleek turned to Mr. Narkom and laughed heartily. 
“What a little packet of pure, unadulterated joie 
de vivre! One of those people who make you feel 
the weight of your years and your responsibilities. 
Dollops will fall for her, if I know anything of the 
young Cockney! And as easy to pump as that 
necessary and useful article out there in the yard.” 
His voice dropped a tone or two. “Brentwood is 
staying here, you heard, Mr. Narkom? That helps 
matters a good deal.’* 

The superintendent’s face was worried in the ex¬ 
treme. He looked at Cleek and shook his head, 
mopped his forehead with a gay silk handkerchief— 
a sure sign, to those who knew him, of mental dis¬ 
tress—and then lifted worried eyes. 

“I don’t care a fig for Brentwood or any of ’em!” 
he said in a low whisper. “What worries me is 
that honeymoon couple.” 


116 


The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

“Why? My dear chap-” 

“Catch their description clearly, eh? You’re such 
a rum beggar, Carstairs! So deuced reckless that 
you’ll run yourself into real trouble, one of these days, 
and I’ll probably not be there to help you out of it! 
I don’t like the sound of ’em. I don’t, really. 
Bold black eyes, and him with a ‘Frenchy mous¬ 
tache!”’ 

Of a sudden Cleek whirled upon him, brows 
drawn down, eyes alert. 

“You think it might be— she? Good lord! I’d 
never thought of that!” 

“No, you wouldn’t. It’s only those who care 
something for you who would,” retorted Mr. Narkom 
with savage affection. “But I did—first thing. 
And before you go booking any rooms for yourself 
here, I’m going to have a peep at that honeymoon 
couple and satisfy myself that she’s not in it!” 

Cleek’s hand gripped his suddenly with a warmth 
and sincerity that brought colour pouring into his 
already red cheek. “Dear old fellow! I’m a 
lucky beggar to have such a man behind me,” said 
he, with a little choke in his voice that made it 

husky. “And-Hello! someone’s coming! Nip into 

this anteroom here, and let’s hope for the best. 
The door crack should afford us a peep of who it may 
be without ourselves being looked at, unless the 
‘someone’ is coming into this room, too.” 

Footsteps sounded along the corridor above, the 




117 


Enter the Apaches 

tap of heels rattled upon the linoleum-covered stair¬ 
case, and a soft, deep-toned woman’s voice, recalling 
instantly Betsy’s description, sounded clearly as the 
owmer of it, in company with someone else, descended 
the staircase. 

“No, darling. Just along to the post office. I 
want some stamps.” 

The startled look in Mr. Narkom’s face communi¬ 
cated itself to Cleek’s. Of a sudden his countenance 
changed. Eyes narrowed, mouth grew grim. Every 
muscle in the lightly built body tautened as if on a 
spring. They walked still farther back behind the 
jamb of the door, and barely drew breath for fear of 
discovery. 

And then the man and the woman passed the 
half-open door of the anteroom, and as they did so 
the woman looked up rapidly into the man’s face 
with a darting smile. 

The unexpected had happened, and the case had 
doubled in its intensity. For the feminine member 
of the “honeymoon couple” was plainly Margot—• 
Margot, the Queen of the Apaches! 


CHAPTER XV 


THE MAN OF THE FORTY FACES 

LEEK sucked in his breath as they passed 



him and went down into the sunlit street. 


The perspiration fairly ran in rivulets down 
Mr. Narkom’s reddened countenance. They looked 
at each other a moment in silence. 

“Good God! You were right, old friend! You 
were right!” Cleek then ejaculated in a low-pitched 
voice of excitement. “And the fat’s in the fire with 
a vengeance! If that hell-cat’s upon the trail, the 
thing’s easy! But she’ll be watching out for Cleek, 
and if she catches wind of Scotland Yard being 


here-!” 


“She mustn’t! We must alter our plans, get 
away somehow and make a quick change!” replied 
Mr. Narkom rapidly. “Something must be done, 
Cleek. I’m not going to have you cornered by 
these swine of Apaches after these two years of 
freedom! Margot isn’t going to claim her erst¬ 
while consort while I’m alive to protect him! When 
a man has thrown aside the blackened paths of hell 
and has set his face toward the sun, as you have done, 
that woman isn’t going to drag him back again, I 


118 



119 


The Man of the Forty Faces 

give you my word! We’ve had enough of her in the 
old days, and we’ll have to get word to Dollops 
quickly, and send him back to London again. If 
she so much as glimpses his red head she’ll know the 
lay, and land you, like the viper she is!” 

“True, every word of it,” whispered Cleek, with 
an affectionate squeeze of this staunch ally’s arm. 
“Don’t worry, old friend. We’ll get out of it some¬ 
how. Betsy’s the first one to get hold of and drop a 
word to that we’ve changed our minds and will be 
spending the evening with friends in the village to¬ 
night instead of here. That’ll settle her! Then 
the inspector must be put wise by telling him that 
you and I have been called off the case, and a couple 
of other detectives sent down instead.” 

“You don’t trust him, then?” 

“I can’t say. Sometimes I feel he’s just a lazy 
fool, and sometimes that he’s a shrewd and very 
clever crook. And yet I’m inclined to lean toward 
the first theory.” 

“Well, just as you like. And then we must send 
Dollops back.” 

Cleek smiled wisely. 

“Dollops has been back ever since this after¬ 
noon’s train, my dear friend,” he replied, “upon 
orders from me. He’s shadowing that other Octav¬ 
ius Spender whom I told you about, and who, I 
imagine, is the real one, and is to report to me to¬ 
morrow morning at the station here.” 


120 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

“Then we’ll have to bring down a disguise for 
him, and have it ready, when we return ourselves,” 
put in Mr. Narkom, with a nod. “That’s the thing 
to do. Gad! I wouldn’t have had this thing 
happen for anything! It’s the devil’s own luck she 
should have been here, Carstairs! It is indeed!” 

“But as she is, she must be reckoned with, and 
frustrated,” replied Cleek quietly, with a short sigh. 
“We’d best be off now. Just nip along and speak 
to Betsy, there’s a good chap, while I alter my coun¬ 
tenance a little, and then stroll off in the direction of 
the police station and have a word with Cog well. 
You can join me there if you will. There’s just one 
point that strikes me in passing.” 

“And what’s that?” The superintendent paused 
at the door, twisting his head round toward his 
friend. 

“Why, simply this: that if Margot and her 
present spouse had had anything to do with last 
night’s happenings at the House on the Hill, they 
would both have cleared off by now, and not stayed 
hanging around here for any one to catch hold of.” 

“H’m. Yes, possibly you’re right.” Mr. Narkom, 
however, sounded a little dubious. “But she’s a 
devil for allaying suspicion. Do you think she’s got 
the jewel, then?” 

“No. If she had she’d have gone long before this. 
That I’ll wager. Margot’s got into this affair a 
little later than she thought, and things have taken a 


121 


The Man of the Forty Faces 

turn she hadn’t expected,” whispered back Cleek, 
as he gave a twitch to his collar, and altered the 
construction of his tie until it looked like a ready¬ 
made bow instead of the neat Savile Row knot it 
had been before, “and she’s hanging about in hopes 
of laying her claws upon the Amber Ship. We’ve 
that to go upon, anyway. If the jewel had been out 
of the village, Margot would have been out, too. 
Her brain’s like quicksilver. Now be off, Mr. 
Narkom, or we’ll have them returning here, and our 
little plans will be upset. I’ll see you later.” 

He waved one hand at the superintendent’s figure 
as it vanished down the corridor. Then a wonderful 
thing happened, and any one seeing it would have 
surely thought that his own eyes had proved their 
deception. For of a sudden his face altered, the 
features writhed and twisted, with that birthright 
of his which had won him the notice of a world-wide 
and not-to-be-desired popularity, and which in the 
old days of his shame had earned him the sobriquet 
of “The Man of the Forty Faces.” He dived a 
hand into his coat pocket, drew out a very fair imita¬ 
tion of a brown moustache, clapped it in place upon 
his lip, twitched down his faultless hat brim until 
it looked like a tramp’s, darted over to a potted palm 
upon an adjacent table and, seizing a handful of 
earth, sprinkled it upon his person and then brushed 
it off lightly, until it made the cloth of his coat look 
worn and old, let out a reef from his braces so that 


122 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

the trouser ends tumbled untidily down over his al¬ 
ready dusty shoes, and went slouching out into the 
sunshine, a very epitome of a tired, dusty, com¬ 
mercial traveller out on holiday, and the very living 
opposite of the man who called himself Hamilton 
Cleek. 


CHAPTER XVI 


A PAIR OF HONEYMOONERS 
HE slouched toward the station Cleek’s 



mind doubled back over the past events of 


^ the day, and his mouth took on a grim line. 
Margot here! Margot, that devil in woman’s 
guise, whose consort he, Cleek, had been in the old, 
dead, bad days of the Paris sewers, when he had been 
wanted by the police the world over for the daring 
jewel thefts organized and worked entirely by him; 
that same Margot who had pursued him since he had 
“turned saint,” to use her own phraseology, and the 
hand that had been with her was now against her, 
was here. She was here upon the track of the Amber 
Ship, and upon the, at present to her unknown, 
track of the man who had turned her down for an¬ 
other, better life with another, better woman, and 
whom, for these two reasons, she had sworn to 
catch “dead or alive.” She had vowed to pay back, 
pound for pound, all the hurt pride of his final break¬ 


away. 


Too many times already she had got her talons 
almost into his flesh, and he had barely escaped. 
But for two years now she had lain quiet, after a 


124 


The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

supposed death upon his part, duly solemnized in a 
public fashion. He had begun to think that she, 
too, must have changed her tactics and believed him 
really underground, for he had heard and seen no 
sign from her during those twenty-four months, 
and the by-streets of London had been curiously free 
from her slouching Apache bodyguard. 

But he might have known! He might have guessed 
that the Amber Ship would have been too great a 
prize for her to relinquish, without taking a sport¬ 
ing chance of laying hands upon it. Her “husband” 
was probably her newest consort, whom she changed 
with the same ease and rapidity as she changed her 
gowns, and—clever actress that she was—she had 
already taken in shrewd little Betsy with her honey¬ 
mooning ways. 

Well, it certainly put another face upon the case, 
from every way one looked at it. 

Beaching the station, Cleek mounted the steps 
lazily, and then was stopped by the constable in 
charge, who jumped up and barred his progress. 

“Can’t come in here, my man, as though you were 
stoppin’ for a drink on your way for a pleasant 
country walk,” he snapped out sharply, as Cleek 
drew back and glanced up at him with dull, unin¬ 
terested eyes, shambling from one foot to the other. 

“Got a message.” The voice was rough, unedu¬ 
cated. 

“Well, give it to me, and get out. This is the police 


A Pair of Honeymooners 125 

station, I’ll have yon to know, not the railway 
station. Where’s your message?” 

Cleek inserted a finger in his pocket and drew out 
a card upon which was engraved “John Carstairs,” 
and handed it across to the constable. 

“Him’s the gentleman that sent me. ‘Got to see 
the inspector himself,’ he said. ‘Important mes¬ 
sage.’” 

The constable scrutinized the card, and then 
scrutinized the messenger. He pursed his lips to¬ 
gether and thought a moment. 

“ Inspector’s not returned yet from that there ’Ouse 
on the ’Ill affair,” he said at last. “Nasty crime 
took place ’ere last night. All sorts of unpleasant 
’appenings. We’ve orders to keep a line upon 
everyone and our eyes open. But if Mr. Carstairs 
sent you, that’s another matter. Better give me the 
message, and I’ll deliver it.” 

The man seemed to hesitate, then shrugged his 
shoulders. 

“Yes, I suppose I’d better. This is it. Mr. 
Carstairs said he and the stout gentleman—Mr. 
Narkom I think he called him—was called away to 
Lunnon suddenly, and he’s sending along another 
couple of detectives to take their places. Most 
important business at Scotland Yard, he said, else 
he’d never have left. And would I be certain to see 
the inspector himself, give him that card as authority 
for sendin’ me, and tell him? But I can’t if he’s 


126 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

not back, can IP Hello! I say, bit of smart skirt 
that, ain’t it?” 

The constable, thus addressed, whirled round and 
followed the direction of the other’s eyes.' The 
“honeymoon couple” were just passing, the woman 
hanging on to her husband’s arm, her eyes looking 
up into his face. They glanced round as they passed 
the station, and gave it a casual look, and involun¬ 
tarily Cleek’s shoulders hunched still further into 
his coat collar so that his chin was almost lost in it. 
If she but knew! Well, his number would be up 
with a vengeance, for she had sworn, Scotland Yard 
or no Scotland Yard, to get him at last, and he knew 
enough of her methods to appreciate their adroit 
ness. 

But they passed him by without so much as a 
second glance, and he metaphorically breathed again 
as the constable, with a knowing wink, remarked that 
she certainly was “something of a looker.” Further 
remarks upon the lady’s charms were stopped by the 
appearance of the inspector who, as he hove around 
the corner of the street, paused to speak to the lady 
and her husband. Then, with a hurried salute, he 
came quickly up the steps of the police station, his 
brows furrowed, his face set. He caught sight of 
Cleek and came to a quick standstill. 

“Hello! who the dickens are you?” he said in some 
surprise. “Not seen you in the village before.” 

“No, I’m walkin’ through to the next one—on 


127 


A Pair of Honeymooners 

hollerday,” returned Cleek, secretly pleased at the 
complete success of his hasty disguise. “Brought a 
message from a gentleman named Carstairs.” 

“Carstairs, eh? Chap from Scotland Yard. Very 
well, then, spit it out. No doubt it’s important— 
as important as that gentleman thinks himself, with 
his stylish London ways/’ 

Cleek’s curious one-sided smile slid up the side of 
his cheek before he replied. The worthy inspector 
was obviously not a great friend of his. 

“Oh,” said he offhandedly, “gentleman said to 
tell you he and his friend Mr. Narkom was called 
off to Lunnon at a minute’s notice, but would send 
another couple of detectives down immediate. 
Narsty sort er crime has been happenin’ here, from 
what the constable tells me, sir. Bit of a mix-up, 
I should say.” 

“Yes, horrible. Found a dead Chink, too, since 
you were up at the house, Leeson. So they’re going? 
Thank the Lord for that! Let’s hope we don’t get 
two such other nigger-drivers down here in place of 
’em.” 

The inspector’s voice held a note of relief at which 
Cleek smiled. 

“Eh, but they’re slick uns in London,” he re¬ 
torted as he descended the steps. “Don’t hold with 
no dangling, half-asleep ways. Used to be in the 
orfice up at Scotland Yard meself, so I knows. Well, 
so long to you. You’ve got the message right, eh?” 


128 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

“Yes. Quite right. So long, Ugly.” 

The inspector dismissed him with an airy wave of 
the nand, and Cleek, tipping his finger familiarly at 
tne constable, went off down the street at an easy 
pace. In the distance, a good many yards in front 
of him, he saw the sauntering figures of the honey¬ 
moon couple, and determined to keep as near as 
possible, but out of their sight. So he branched off 
into a little lane—shaded with high hedges, but run¬ 
ning parallel with them—and then sped with winged 
feet until he had about reached their position. He 
could hear their voices clearly in the high road. He 
thanked heaven for the little double row of hedges 
which saved him from discovery, and gave him 
such an opportunity to listen to their conversation. 
He caught the murmur of their voices speaking 
in French, and tiptoed along beside them, hidden 
by the screening hedge. No other person was to 
be seen anywhere. Whatever they had to say to 
each other, they could say it now without fear of 
detection, for the roadway stretched ahead of them 
utterly untenanted, and they had already left the 
village some distance behind. 

“Well, it is gone, of a surety, but where?" he heard 
Margot say in her throaty, imperious contralto, and 
speaking in her native tongue. “If thou had not 
been such a fool, Albert, and drunk too much of the 
good wine to waken up at the proper time, the thing 
might have been ours now. Why I ever employed 


A Pair of Honeymooners 129 

you for the work I do not know! Thou art a dolt, 
a swinish glutton!’ 5 

“But led always by the bright eyes of Queen Mar¬ 
got to the same dizzy stupidity!” he returned, with a 
laugh and a shrug of the shoulders. “There is yet 
time, Queen. No one has left this place since yes¬ 
terday—not by the railway, at any rate. Whoever 
did the thing must be still here, and that sign of 
Kali the Slayer should be a hint to follow. Thou 
knowest as I do-” 

She raised an angry hand. 

“Be still with thy lying excuses. Name of a dog, 
Albert, but thou growest more of the sluggard every 
day! When I went to the house at three this morning, 
no one was there. The place was empty. Had it 
not been for thee I should never have failed. And 
there are automobiles, fool, and motorcycles and 
other methods of swifter flight than the railway. 
No, we have lost the stones, and the price they 
offered us for them. There is nothing for it but to 
return to London and confess failure. And give 
Gunga Dal the chance of his lifetime to make a 
fortune! A bitter pill that.” She shrugged her 
shoulders and gave a little snarl of anger, pushing 
the man from her with one furious hand. “Fool! 
fool!” she cried furiously. “Thy fault, thine! 
Well, let the sewer rats take thee, as they may when 
we return! I’ll have no more of thy company!” 

He slumped his shoulders at the rebuke and lifted 



130 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

adoring eyes to her face, but she was master of him 
and he dared not speak. Then of a sudden she 
caught him to her again with a deft swing of the 
arm. 

“Fool that thou art, thou still lovest thy Margot, 
and that shall help thee to be forgiven,” she said in a 
soft voice, and he ecstatically caught her hand and 
kissed it, murmuring something which Cleek could 
not catch. “But what think you of this Brent¬ 
wood? Weak-blooded, say I. I tried to coax 
him to tell me something of the house and this old 
man who lives in it, and he was dumb as an image. 
Whyfor but for his own intentions? I could have 
sworn he had committed the thing and stolen the 
jewel—yet he remains at the Golden Arm just the 
same. And— what's that?" 

That was the sound of Cleek’s boot, caught against 
a concealed stone. He went sprawling head fore¬ 
most, with a most tremendous commotion. That 
stone had caught him napping. But now he was up 
again and darting along the lane to the accompani¬ 
ment of their cries and shouts. Margot’s voice came 
to him upon the breeze; he caught fragments of it— 
“Overheard—name of a dog! Get away as quickly 
as possible—the police-dogs; of a surety”—even as 
he put as big a distance as possible between them. 
Their faintly pursuing footsteps sounded farther and 
farther away; he ran like a hare, bounding over the 
ground, almost silent. “Holla! Holla! Who is 


A Pair of Honeymooners 131 

it?” he heard the man Albert’s voice shrill out in a 
friendly tone. But he still ran on. Round a corner, 
a sharp turn to the left; through a field of young 
wheat which left the pattern of his ruthless footsteps. 
The station hove in sight, and the Yard limousine, 
with Lennard at the wheel, was standing outside it. 

Cleek redoubled his pace, reached the car breath¬ 
less, whisked open the door and fairly fell across 
Mr. Narkom, sitting placidly looking out of the 
window for sight of his ally’s slim figure. 

“God bless my soul!” gasped out that gentleman 
breathlessly. “And who the dickens? Cleek!” 

“Drive on!” rapped out Cleek, ignoring Mr. 
Narkom’s outburst until they had settled other and 
more important things. “To London, Lennard, as 
fast as you can make it. Margot and a man are 
here, and I interrupted ’em. They know someone’s 
on the lookout now, and if they should catch a 
glimpse of me without this confounded moustache 

33 

His voice trailed off into silence as the car leapt 
forward and went rocketing off down the country 
road at a speed which every constable in the district 
would have summonsed. And then Cleek settled 
back in the cushions of the cosy interior, slipped a 
hand through Mr. Narkom’s arm, and patted his 
chest soundly with the other. 

“Gad!” he said with a laugh. “That was a run 
for my money! I’ve not got my breath back yet. 


132 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

But it’s taken years off me, old friend, bringing 
back a little of the joyous adventuredom of youth! 
For two pins I’d have sung out to ’em who I was— 
and watched the beggars froth at the mouth. I 
would indeed! Brentwood, eh? And a chap called 
Gunga Dal! Then my first guess at the Balankha- 
Dahs was a good one, and we’ve got a line on the 
affair at last!” 


CHAPTER XVII 


SUSPICIONS 

L ENNARD made good time in that swift, mad 
drive to London; so good, in fact, that it was 
barely five o’clock before they had arrived 
at the Yard, had tumbled out and gone plunging up 
the steps and into Mr. Narkom’s office. Here 
Cleek immediately began rummaging through the 
big hanging cupboard in one corner, where he kept 
his various disguises, with a replica of every one of 
them in his flat in Clarges Street. 

“It’s George Headland for me, I think,” he said, 
as he threw off coat and waistcoat, unlaced his slim, 
neat shoes, and pushed his feet into policemen’s 
tens, with two socks in them to help for a better fit. 
A rough Admiralty serge suit was donned as he 
talked; the mock moustache was removed, and a 
bushier, brown affair, with a hint of gray in it, 
fixed in its place; a hunch of the shoulders, a twist 
of the features, and, as he turned to Mr. Narkom, 
already himself struggling into a similar suit of blue 
serge of that rough, hard-wearing quality which the 
working man adopts for use of a Sunday, he made a 
theatrical bow. 


133 


134 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

“God bless my soul!” ejaculated the superintend¬ 
ent, as he puffed and panted into a waistcoat which 
appeared two sizes too small for him. “If you’re 
not the most amazing chap in the world! It’s 
great—great!” 

“Thick-headed enough to take in the inspector, 
and put his mental processes nicely to bed?” queried 
Cleek with a smile. 

“I should say so! Look as though all the intelli¬ 
gence you possessed lived in your enormous boots. 
What had I better call myself?” 

“Oh—Venner. Inspector Venner. That’ll give 
you standing enough to have it over our lazy friend 
Cogwell when it comes to authority. Now, then, 
all ready? I’ve a complete outfit for Dollops here. 
I’ll leave the bag at the station at Upminster, with 
word that it be given to him the minute he arrives 
in the morning, to be examined immediately in the 
waiting room there. That’ll fix that part up well 
enough. Now, old friend, there’s just time for a 
snack at the pub around the corner, and we must be 
making tracks once more.” 

“Well, I’m ready.” 

They linked arms and went off down the stairs to¬ 
gether, and out round the corner to where the snack 
was duly partaken of, and then off again to Lennard, 
and a car—a more unpretentious affair this, as the 
big blue limousine in which they had first motored 
down was too noticeable a car to be forgotten. 


Suspicions 135 

Upminster was made in record time, and leaving 
the car at the local garage, Cleek and Mr. Narkom 
made their way on foot to the Golden Arm, looking 
something between a pair of A. B.’s and a couple of 
policemen on holiday, and sauntered into the vesti¬ 
bule, where Betsy of the merry eyes immediately 
accosted them. 

“Got any rooms vacant for a week’s ’ollerday, 
miss?” said Cleek in his best thick-headed fashion, 
giving her a little poke in the ribs with his elbow and 
cocking an eye in her direction. 

She seemed to understand this language instantly, 
by the smirk she gave him. 

“Guess we kin find a shake-down for a couple of 
nice gen’lemen like you,” she replied. “’Ad two 
toffs ’ere this afternoon, and booked rooms for ’em, 
and then they went and did a flittin’, and the rooms 
weren’t never used. You kin have ’em if you want. 
’Ad any supper?” 

Cleek looked at Mr. Narkom, who did a little 
mouth-smacking that seemed to please Betsy. 

“You’d better come along and see what I kin find 
for yer,” she said, leading the way to the now de¬ 
serted dining room. “Cook’ll rake up something ’ot 
for a couple of gents of your sort. Trust me, you 
can.” 

They trusted her to such good effect that a little 
later she appeared with two plates full of steaming- 
hot boiled beef and carrots, a dish of dumplings, and 


136 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

a couple of tureens of country vegetables. She 
set them down in front of the two men with a beaming 
smile. 

“That’s a bit of all right, miss,” said Cleek, with a 
nod as he helped himself liberally. “Ain’t it, Jim? 
Full up here, I suppose?” 

She stood talking to them, arms on the table, with 
an easy familiarity. 

“Oh, no. Not altogether. ’Ad an ’oneymoon 
couple here a while back what was fair amusin’. 
But a wire come for ’em just before tea, and they ’ad 
to leave rather suddint-like. Pity, I say. Don’t 
get much fun into this one-horse little village, I 
kin promise yer, not after good old Lunnon town.” 

So the honeymoon couple had wasted no time, 
then! Well, that was something to go on, at any 
rate, and Cleek was secretly rather relieved to know 
that they would not be living under the same roof 
with him. Betsy chattered on for some time, and 
then, when they had finished their meal, showed them 
the way to the smoking room. It was a smallish 
room, furnished in the typical country-inn style, 
with French windows which opened on to a little 
flagged courtyard at the back of the house. Here 
stood a green iron table and a couple of chairs, and 
the warm night smell of growing things rose invitingly 
through the half-open door. 

Cleek settled himself in a basket chair, and gave a 
huge sigh of comfort as he lit his pipe. The room 


Suspicions 137 

was empty save for the presence of a long-legged, 
pale-faced young gentleman who sat in one corner, 
a newspaper, folded back at the racing news, across 
his knees, a pipe in his mouth, and one nervous, rest¬ 
less hand jingling at the slender gold watch chain 
which stretched across his waistcoat. 

“Nice comfortable place, this,” ejaculated Cleek, 
looking casually at this personable piece of man¬ 
hood, and noting the pallor of cheeks and the haggard 
circles round the blue eyes. They told of mental 
stress or too much dissipation—or an overdose of 
both. The young man took a drink of his whisky, 
wiped his mouth, and met Cleek’s eyes with a slight 
frown. 

“Not bad,” he said. “At least, for a village. 
Like town best myself, though.” 

“Well, country’s always nice for a change,” put in 
Mr. Narkom with a grin. “Gives a chap a chance 
of settling down and taking stock of things for a bit. 
On holiday, I suppose, like the rest of us?” 

The young man grunted. And Cleek, noting 
that he was not giving away any of his private busi¬ 
ness for nothing, put in a word. 

“Feed you decently here, may I ask?” 

“Oh, so-so. Not bad, you know, for the class of 
place. Get a good many visitors here during the 
season and all that. But in the winter we’re deuced 
quiet.” 

“Oh. Then you’re a resident?” 


138 


The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

“I should think so! Or rather, I was. My 
home’s up at the Manor—Sir George Brentwood’s 
place, you know.” There was a touch of conscious 
pride in his tone. “I’m his son.” 

“Oh, I see. Fine estate, I should think, judging 
from what I hear,” returned Cleek. “What say to a 
glass of ale, Jim? Have one with me, will you?” 
He turned to the young man and waved an inviting 
hand. 

“Er, thanks very much. I don’t mind if I do. 
Whisky, thanks. Ale always plays the dickens with 
me, for some reason.” 

“P’raps it’s because your head ain’t so old as 
mine,” said Cleek with a wink and a loud guffaw, 
“or my pal Jim’s. Venner’s his name. Mine’s 
Headland. Yours, then, I take it, is Brentwood? 
Very glad to meet you, Mr. Brentwood. Now, then, 
Ethel my lass, a couple of pints of bitter and a 
whisky-and-soda, please.” This to Betsy, who 
came in answer to his ring. She tossed her head at r 
him, giving a meaning glance at young Brentwood, 
which passed him by. 

“My name’s not Ethel, beggin’ yer pardon,” she 
snapped back. “It’s Elizabeth Meats—Betsy for 
short.” 

“I’m sure I’m sorry for the mistake. Step lively, 
Betsy lass; we’ve a thirst big enough to swaller the 
Thames.” 

Betsy stepped lively to such good effect that they 


Suspicions 139 

were drinking their separate drinks within the next 
five minutes, and Cleek noted the eagerness with 
which Frank Brentwood swallowed his. So the 
bottle was one of his weaknesses, too? Well, that 
was pretty plain by the look of him, and the tremor 
of the hand that lit his cigarette. He wondered how 
much of this agitation, so openly expressed in the 
quick, nervous gestures and the twitching lips, he 
owed to what had taken place at the House on the 
Hill last night. Then he switched on to another 
subject. 

“Wish I’d brought my camera with me, Jim. 
This here’s a likely spot for a few nice snaps, I should 
think. You a camera fiend, too, may I ask?” 

Brentwood shook his head. 

“No. Used to have one when I was a kid, but 
never went in for it much otherwise. Never had 
time. Racing’s more in my line. I’m keen on that. 
And jolly keen, too, on collecting things. Odd 
stones, quartz, and things of that sort; bits of old 
brass and copper and cloisonne. In fact, anything 
that has a value to it.” 

Cleek gave him a quick, keen look. Now, he 
didn’t look like a young man who would give a 
straw for such things. And wasn’t, if he knew any¬ 
thing of human nature. But if so, why had he said 
that? Was he leading up to something? 

“Jewellery’s more in my line. Now I do like to 
set me peepers upon a fine diamond, or something 


140 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

that really has got a history of sorts, and wot people’s 
lived and perhaps died for,” he said in a ruminative 
sort of voice, as he pulled on his briar and looked up 
at the ceiling and then at Brentwood again, perceiv¬ 
ing a sudden tightening of the lips in the young man’s 
face. 

“Well, so do I. That’s funny. I’m in the 
jewellery line myself now, too.” 

“You, in the jewellery? You don’t look like a 
young gentleman wot follered any trade, if you’d 
forgive my plain speaking.” 

Brentwood laughed a trifle harshly. 

“Oh, when a chap’s got a living to make, he’s got 
to make it at something, and it’s best to take the 
first thing to hand,” he replied, a touch of hardness 
in his voice. “Got the chance, and so I took it. 
I’m with a man called Amos, in Cheapside. He’s got 
an office in Hatton Garden, too. Taught me a deuce 
of a lot, he has. Clever chap in his own line. Must 
say I like the job, though it isn’t quite what one 
would expect a squire’s son to do, is it? Only I’ve 
had a row with the old man.” 

Cleek arched his eyebrows. He noted the empty 
whisky glass and touched the bell. 

“Just one more on me, for new friendship’s sake,” 
he said, with a smile, as Brentwood tried to dissemble. 
“Had a row, did yer? Well, that’s bad. I remem¬ 
ber when I was a kid havin’ a row with my pater—he 
was in the wholesale fish line—and he chucked me 


Suspicions 141 

out of the house. Bit of a teaser at first it was, but 
afterwards, when I found me feet, I was glad I’d had 
’im to do it for me. Still, I’m always sorry to hear 
of a young feller falling out with his parents. How 
did it happen?” 

The sympathy in his tone took Brentwood in¬ 
stantly, and the whisky had a loosening effect upon 
his tongue. He gave Cleek a watery smile. 

“Oh, usual thing. Racing debts, and a girl I fell 
in love with. Pater wouldn’t hear of our marriage, 
though. Said she wasn’t well-born enough, and all 
that sort of nonsense, and—well, the long and short 
of it was, I lost my temper, and so did he, and we 
said things to each other that we shouldn’t have 
said. After that, he kicked me out. And here I 
am!” 

“Bad luck. I’m sorry for you, young man. And 
so’s my friend Jim here. He and I have a lot of 
sympathy for a young chap down on his luck. And 
romance always gits yer heart right away, don’t it? 
Local young leddy was she?” 

Brentwood nodded. 

“Yes. Matter of fact, she’s the nurse who takes 
care of my father. Sweetest girl in the world! 
He’s ill, you know. His brain goes to pieces oc¬ 
casionally. Shouldn’t be excited, and all that. 
Maud looks after him. We’ve—we’ve been fond of 
each other for a long time, but daren’t say anything 
because of the pater. And then that leaves a loop- 


142 


The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

hole for that swine of a doctor to pay his unpleasant 
attentions whenever he calls! Oh, it’s a deuce of a 
mix-up, any way you look at it!” 

The second glass of whisky was undoubtedly doing 
its work well. Cleek wondered how many had gone 
before he and Mr. Narkom entered the smoking 
room. The task of pumping this young idiot was so 
easy as to make one almost ashamed. And now the 
doctor had entered into the lists of his obvious 
opponents, had he? And what was it Doctor 
Hunter had said about him? Paid unwanted atten¬ 
tions to the young nurse in charge of the squire, and 
pestered her? And here he was saying the same 
thing about the doctor! Cleek wondered which 
one of them he could rely on, and felt a little inclined 
to favour the medico for accuracy of detail. And he 
wasn’t keen on a camera, either? H’m. That also 
might be a lie. A young chap of Brentwood’s 
calibre would look upon lying as little as he would 
look upon drinking, and indulge in it equally as often, 
if he felt like it. 

“It do seem a mix-up, I must confess,” Cleek 
replied, with a shake of the head. “I’m downright 
sorry for you. By the way, funny thing happened 
last night. I was phonin’ for rooms from town and 
couldn’t get on. Girl at the office said the line was 
out of order. D’you know anything about it at all? 
Very inconvenient for people wot wants to do urgent 
business with the city, I should say.” 


Suspicions 143 

Brentwood fell into the trap at once, and more 
headlong than Cleek had ever dared to hope for. 
For, thinking of Miss Ellison, he had remembered the 
words she had used to him the night before about the 
phone being out of order as an excuse for her leaving 
her patient at that hour of the night. Here was just 
a vague chance of ascertaining whether she had 
spoken the truth or not. Brentwood settled it once 
and for all. 

“No, I don’t think there was anything wrong, so 
far as I know,” he said, with some show of surprise. 
“Fact- is, I phoned to London myself, and got 
through all right, and Miss Ellison phoned me here 
at the house from the Manor. What time did you 
ring up?” 

“About half-past nine,” replied Cleek offhandedly, 
taking a chance shot. 

“ That’s strange. It was a quarter past nine when 
Maud called me, and their line wasn’t out of order, 
at any rate. Those telephone girls are the very 
dickens for making mistakes, aren’t they? You 
ought to make a complaint. What’s that? Yes, 
I’m on holiday. Got four days off while my boss is 
away in Scotland, seeing a customer who wants some 
jewels reset. Believe he didn’t trust me along with 
his blessed stock, that’s what the trouble was! 
And so he told me to make myself scarce until next 
Monday, and of course I came here straight away.” 

“Of course.” Cleek got to his feet, stretched 


144 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

himself, pulled out his watch, and then gave a 
hasty exclamation of surprise. “Now who’d ’a’ 
thought it?” he ejaculated. “Here it is a quarter 
past eleven. Better be making tracks, Jim.” 

“Jim,” thus spoken to, rose clumsily and rubbed 
his eyes. But young Brentwood jumped to his 
feet with a rather unsteady alacrity, and began mak¬ 
ing for the door. 

“Quarter past eleven! And I’ve got an appoint¬ 
ment—at least, I promised tcx meet a chap at twenty 
past. And it’s a good ten minutes’ walk to the 
meeting place!” he said, with a nod to each of them. 
“Many thanks for your hospitality. You must 
let me return it to-morrow evening. Pleased to 
have met you, I’m sure. We’ll probably see some¬ 
thing of each other during this week-end. Good¬ 
night.” 

“Good-night,” said Cleek and Mr. Narkom in 
chorus. Then the door closed behind Brentwood 
and he was gone. Cleek tiptoed to the half-open 
French window and looked out. 

“That,” said he over his shoulder, “is about the 
easiest task I’ve ever undertaken. The young fool is 
heading straight for the devil with as long strides as 
I’ve ever seen a fellow take. And it’s a pity his 
mother doesn’t try and lend a hand to haul him 
back. Racing and drinking and deceit. Funny how 
they all three run together! And funny, too, that 
he should have been given that four days’ holiday 


Suspicions 145 

when his employer was away, leaving the business 
unattended to. Notice that, did you, old friend? 
Good lie, that. I twigged it at once. There’s 
more in his presence here than any mere love affair. 
I’m certain. I’m going to track him to that meet¬ 
ing place, and see if what I suspect about him be 
true.” 

With which words, he vanished through the French 
windows, and Mr. Narkom heard nor saw any more 
of him that night. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


A PAIR OF MUDDY SHOES 

I T DID not take Cleek long to trail Frank Brent¬ 
wood, for there was a good moon that night, and 
he could see his tall figure moving somewhat un¬ 
steadily down the road and at last swinging off to the 
right, to where a big field of wheat stood ghostly in 
the darkness, and a spreading oak tree over against 
the hedge made a patch of impenetrable blackness 
where its shadow fell upon the twin fields it looked 
down on. 

Cleek slipped up under shelter of the hedge, and 
hid himself behind a bramble-bush a few paces to 
the rear of the tree, and in the next field adjoining it. 
Here he might listen and not be seen, and if using 
his eyes was difficult, there was a patch of moon¬ 
light silting through the interlaced branches in one 
spot, to which lucky chance might lead Brentwood 
and his unknown gentleman friend. 

But there was no one beneath the tree except 
Frank Brentwood himself when Cleek had safely 
ensconced himself in his hiding place. He saw the 
young man take two turns up and down, and then 
strike a match, look at his watch, and mumble some- 

146 


147 


A Pair of Muddy Shoes 

thing to himself. And just as he was wondering 
exactly who this gentleman friend of Brentwood’s 
could be, and what bearings he might or might not 
have upon the case, the friend arrived with a flurry 
of skirts. It was a woman, and a young woman, too, 
by the swiftness of the moving feet. Then Cleek 
drew in his breath with a silent whistle as she moved 
into the patch of moonlight. Miss Ellison, eh? 
So that was the meaning of the clandestine meeting, 
then! It would be interesting to hear what they had 
to say to each other. 

But Cleek never knew nor realized, until he had had 
the evidence of his own ears to tell him, just how inter¬ 
esting that conversation was likely to be, for her shrill 
voice rose suddenly above the whisper with which 
she had greeted her lover, and a blade of moonlight 
lit up her face, showing the anxiety written thereon. 

“I must have it, Frank! I tell you I must, dear! 
You must get hold of it somehow!” she said, and 
then, as Brentwood’s hand went quickly over her 
mouth and his voice spoke a soft and tender rep¬ 
rimand, she laughed a little nervously and obeyed 
him. “Darling, I can’t tell you how necessary it 
is! Yes, yes, I promise not to talk too loudly, only 
I forget sometimes, and Heaven knows there is surely 
no one within seeing or hearing distance at this hour 
of the night! But, Frank dear, you must go for it to¬ 
morrow—somehow or other, no matter what risks 
you take! But I must have it. I must! I must!” 


148 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

“But I tell you, Maud dearest, the man is dead, 
and the dead can’t rise and give it to you, can they?” 
he returned, in a slightly thick voice which made her 
glance quickly up at him. 

“Frank! You’ve been drinking again! And af¬ 
ter all your promises, too! Oh, everything seems 
to have gone wrong now, everything! If you really 
loved me-” 

) He caught her to him roughly, and smothered her 
upturned face with passionate kisses. 

“I do, I do! You know that, Maud. There is 
no one but you in my life, and it is the knowledge 
that I must deny you, put you on one side before 
the world, all because the Guv’nor, with his pig¬ 
headed notions of snobbery, doesn’t think you’re 
socially my equal, which makes my gorge rise! 
And a chap must have something to drown his sor¬ 
rows in, you know. You beg for forgetfulness in one 
way. I take it in another. What’s the odds when 
life’s so short? Kiss me, Maud. Do you love me?” 

Cleek caught the tremor of her voice, and felt a 
beast for prying upon them at such a time. 

“Of course. You know that, dear. Otherwise, 
I would never have done that , for you. I do love 
you, Frank, with all my heart and soul!” 

“Do that for him?” Now what was “that,” to 
start with? And what was it that she seemed so 
terribly anxious for him to obtain for her? Some¬ 
thing for which he must take any risk, no matter 



149 


A Pair of Muddy Shoes 

how grave! Something that she couldn’t do with¬ 
out! And they spoke of the man’s being dead, and 
that the dead couldn’t rise and give it to her? There 
was something here which wanted looking into; that 
was plain. 

“Well, I’ve got to slip back to London to-morrow,” 
went on Brentwood, after a tense pause, “and I’ll 
show up at the office to Weston, so’s he’ll think I’ve 
been doing the rounds in town all the time, as I 
promised old Amos I would.” 

Cleek could hear her sigh. 

“Oh, this lying and deceit! Why don’t you tell 
him the truth, Frank, and let him do what he likes 
about it? But to take advantage of a man when he 
is away like this! Oh, sometimes I don’t seem to 
see things straight any more. Life’s a maze, which¬ 
ever way you look at it, and you may walk and walk 
as straight as you please, and find yourself farther 
away from the goal at the end than you were at the 
beginning!” 

“It doesn’t pay to be too honest, Maud,” he 
whispered back, with a harsh, thick laugh which 
made her draw away from him sharply. 

“Don’t talk like that, Frank! It’s not worthy of 
you. And it makes me ashamed. Life is hard 
enough, as it is, with that man Hunter pestering me 
at every turn! I believe he’s found out, and is 
going to hold it over me! Oh, I don’t know what I 
believe.” 


150 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

“Well, I do! I believe I’ll wring his dirty neck 
for him if I find him pestering you any further— 
that’s flat!” he said passionately. “I won’t have 
him clawing you, Maud. You’re mine, and you 
know it. And for all his handsome face and hand¬ 
some ways, I loathe the chap as much as I like his 
sister. Poor little Mrs. Verity! Now that’s a 
tragedy, if you like! But Hunter! Listen to me, 
Maud. If he starts any more monkey-shining with 
you, send me a wire and I’ll come down and blow his 
brains out!” 

“Hush—hush! If any one heard! Frank, dear, do 
be careful what you say,” she interposed anxiously. 

He gave a harsh laugh. He was obviously just 
drunk enough to be quarrelsome. 

“And don’t you see, Frank, if you quarrel with 
him, he’ll—tell?” she went on. 

There was a pause, and then Cleek heard him 
suck in his breath noisily. 

“Yes, I s’pose he will. And that mustn’t happen 
yet awhile,” he returned in a dubious kind of voice. 

“ ’Cause if it did- Well, it’d be the end for little 

Frank, I promise you.” 

“And the end for Maud Ellison, too! There’s no 
going back now, Frank. The thing’s done, and done 
for ever. And you and I, if ever it is found out, 
must stand the racket. But get it for me somehow, 
darling. I simply must have it. To-morrow night, 
Frank. You won’t fail me, will you? And bring 


151 


A Pair of Muddy Shoes 

it with you. Oh, I must go now, or Sir George will 
waken and start calling for me. Good-night, dar¬ 
ling, and God bless you, and forgive us if we have 
done very, very wrong!” 

Done very, very wrong? What had they done 
which was so wrong? Not murder, surely? And 
yet one never knew. Brentwood admitted he didn’t 
care for cameras. So the cyanide hadn’t been ob¬ 
tained for that—if he had obtained it at all. Then, 
again, he was in the jewellery trade now, and she 
wanted him to get something for her at whatever 
risks, but to get it! And what was it the doctor had 
said? That he had seen him standing in the drive 
of the House on the Hill, arguing with Mr. Spender 
and saying that he must have it—just a glimpse, 
etc. 

Cleek had, somehow or other, been almost sure 
that the good doctor was lying when he gave him 
that little piece of evidence. But here it was, dove¬ 
tailing quite excellently with what these two very- 
much-in-love young people were saying out here 
under the moon. And the doctor knew something 
about her which she was afraid he might tell! The 
whole interview gave into his hands all sorts of tan¬ 
gled threads to which, as yet, he could find no clue. 

But stay, couldn’t he? He paused a moment in 
thought, and then glanced away instinctively as 
they said their last good-bye to each other. Poor 
kids! Let ’em have that entirely to themselves. 


152 


The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

anyway, no matter what other criminalities they 
might be mixed up in. Then he began slowly to 
put two and two together, and to discover that, in 
his intelligence, anyway, they were fairly clearly 
making four. 

During which interesting procedure, Maud Ellison 
had taken her hurried departure in one direction, 
Frank Brentwood was taking his in another, and 
Cleek, feeling that age was laying its inexorable 
fingers upon him in the stiffening of joints held too 
long in the one posture, straightened himself with a 
sigh of relief, and started for the inn again by an¬ 
other route. This eventually led him some distance 
out of the way, and brought him at last through 
the garden entrance, and in by the French windows, 
which still remained ajar, and led into the smoking 
room. 

He tiptoed up the first flight to his bedroom. The 
light was still shining in the hall above, though 
there seemed to be no stir of life about him. Obvi¬ 
ously this thoughtful landlord catered for the out- 
later s. Cleek turned the handle of his bedroom 
and switched on the light. Then he glanced back 
along the corridor before turning in. And at that 
moment the door next to his opened, and a hand put 
out a pair of muddy, clay-caked, brown walking- 
shoes. Cleek swung his own door to quickly, and 
then, after a minute, opened it and looked out. 

By some lucky chance his room was next to 


15S 


A Pair of Muddy Shoes 

Frank Brentwood’s, and those shoes he was putting 
out were certainly not the pair he had been wearing 
that evening. For Cleek had noted that they were 
black brogues. And there had been no clay in the 
lane. Neither was this a clayey district. But stay, 
clay was good for roses! And the garden of the 
House on the Hill was full of them! In a twinkling 
he remembered the rosebed which girt the Oriental 
study window. And, too, another large bed which 
surrounded the outer side of that strange Echo 
Tower. Of course, there might be rosebeds up at 
the Manor. He couldn’t tell that yet. But he was 
beginning to form some fairly strong theories upon 
the case in question. And he wasn’t liking Frank 
Brentwood a great deal, either. 

With a somewhat grim look about his mouth, Cleek 
silently drew in his head and shut his bedroom door. 


CHAPTER XIX 


FOUR LETTERS 


LEEK was up betimes. He fixed the grizzled 



moustache in place, slipped on his dressing 


^ gown, and unlocked the door to take in his 
shaving water. As he did so, a shaft of sunshine, 
from just to the left of him, fell across the hall, and as 
a similar shaft came from his own open door, he 
took it that the door next to his on the left was also 
open, and stopped to listen. But there was no sound 
from the room, so he stepped quietly out into the 
hall and peeped in through the crack. The room 
was empty. The window stood wide open, blowing 
the casement curtains to and fro. The bed was 
untidily tossed back, and drawers of chest and bureau 
were thrown open. Even the wardrobe door was 
ajar. But there was no one in the room. 

So Cleek, taking things into his own hands, walked 
in, gave a quick survey, and walked out of it, hoping 
that, by a lucky chance, no chambermaid would be 
about as he entered the hall again. 

Yes, the room had been slept in, but its occupant 
—and he knew that occupant to be Frank Brent¬ 
wood—had gone, for no trace of clothing was to be 


154 


Four Letters 


1 55 


seen. Shaving tackle, pyjamas, everything had 
vanished, proving that the young man had left alto¬ 
gether. Back to London, possibly, to obtain the 
precious thing which Maud Ellison was pleading so 
earnestly with him to get for her. The Amber 
Ship? Perhaps. Perhaps not. And yet, it might 
easily be. But what did she want that for? It 
wouldn’t be of any use to a girl like that, unless she 
wanted to hand it on to someone else in case of dis¬ 
covery for him. But that notion seemed rather far¬ 
fetched in face of it. Yet he had formed a theory 
last night. 

He stepped out into the corridor again and into 
his own room. Then he rang the bell, and when 
the chambermaid came, he demanded to know the 
way to the bathroom. 

“Just down that passage, sir, first to your right,” 
she replied, and as he followed her a little way, he 
turned his head accidentally, as it were, in the direc¬ 
tion of Brentwood’s room, and remarked with a 
casual air that there was someone else up as early as 
he. 

“Oh, yes, sir, and ’ad his breakfast, too, and off to 
catch the eight o’clock for Lunnon,” she returned 
pleasantly, opening the bathroom door for him. 
“Always cornin’ and goin,’ that young gentleman is. 
Son of the squire up at the Manor House, sir. Young 
waster, though, from all I sees, though I don’t tell 
everythink I knows. Got yer towels, sir?” 


156 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

“Yes, thanks.” 

Cleek closed the bathroom door, mentally register¬ 
ing the fact that in spite of her remark he recognized 
in her the usual garrulity of her kind, and forthwith 
proceeded with his cold bath, from which he emerged 
presently to finish dressing, and then was off to Mr. 
Narkom’s room, a few doors farther down, to hunt 
that worthy gentleman out of bed. 

He found him sipping tea leisurely and clad in a 
pair of futuristic pyjamas which were a deathblow to 
eyesight. 

“My dear chap!” expostulated Cleek on sight of 
them, “I don’t wonder you suffer from nightmare! 
Well, how goes it? Getting up now, I hope? There’s 
plenty on foot for to-day’s work, I can promise 
you.” 

Mr. Narkom nodded, stretching himself. 

“All right, all right, you indefatigable ass!” he 
said with jocular affection born of a good eight hours’ 
sleep on a good bed. “I’ll be down in a jiffy, and 
join you in the breakfast room. By the way, what 
happened last night? Anything of interest?” 

“Of great interest. I listened to a love scene, and 
felt odd man out, I can tell you, with Ailsa two 
hundred miles away from me at the moment, and no 
letter—naturally—awaiting me this morning. And 
then I heard—well, several things. Tell me what 
you make of ’em.” 

He perched himself on the bed and told him briefly 


Four Letters 


157 


the happenings of last night, while the superintendent 
smoked his first cigarette. At the end of the recital 
his eyes were alight. 

“ Gad, Cleek, you’ve fallen upon something which 
looks like business, I’ll swear to that!” he said ex¬ 
plosively, bounding out of bed and starting the task 
of dressing. “What if it is the Amber Ship they’re 
after? What if he has got it in hiding, eh?” 

“Maybe. But I’ve other plans than going after 
that line to-day, old friend. In the first place, 
I’m doing a little peddling up at the Manor House, 
to obtain an entry there, and look round as to how 
the land lies in that direction. So if Dollops turns 
up here, or joins you at the House on the Hill—I 
suppose you’ll be up there most of the morning in¬ 
vestigating, and arranging about the inquest, won’t 
you?—just tell him to join us here for tea, and be 
ready for another journey London wards. Good-bye 
for the present, and don’t be too long about dressing. 
I’ve an appetite big enough for seven!” 

It was a bare fifteen minutes later when Mr. Nar- 
kom joined him for breakfast, proving undeniably 
the fact that though one might take an out-size in 
waistcoats, one could be as nippy as a youngster of 
sixteen if one was so disposed, and the two of them 
sat down to a hearty breakfast. 

As it happened, they were the only occupants of 
the dining room, but before they had quite finished 
their last slices of toast, and Mr. Narkom had just 


158 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

reached for the marmalade with a sigh of satisfaction, 
someone else entered the room. This was a tall, thin, 
rather plain woman of middle age, with nothing 
whatever about her to attract save a pair of kind 
brown eyes beaming upon the world through steel 
spectacles, and a rather thin-lipped, firmly set 
mouth. Her clothes and hat, which she wore just 
then as if in readiness for going out immediately 
afterward, were of a nondescript order. 

Yet Cleek, trained in the niceties of observation 
as he was, took stock of her immediately, and then 
went on with his breakfast. Who was she? Betsy, 
entering the room at that moment, soon told him. 
She bore down upon the newcomer, with her beam¬ 
ing smile, nodded a bright, “Good morning, Miss 
Beverley. Nice morning, ain’t it?” to which that 
lady responded in a quiet voice, “Very nice indeed, 
Betsy. Yes, please; eggs and bacon, as usual. No 
letters for me, I suppose?” 

“No, Mass Beverley. No letters for any one but Mr. 
Brentwood, and they come so late he’d gone before¬ 
hand. Back to Lunnon, you know. Always on the 
move, that young gentleman. Tea or coffee, miss ? ’ ’ 

Cleek heard Mass Beverley fetch a deep sigh. 

“Tea, please. I suppose I can hardly expect a 
letter first post, but if one should come the second 
post, Betsy, take very good care of it for me, and 
put it on one side. I shall be out with Miss Prudence 
this morning. We’re visiting Brook Lane, and have 


Four Letters 


1 59 


to call upon several sick people of the parish to-day. 
If I can, I’ll return—the letter’s very, very impor¬ 
tant. But if not, take care of it for me, like a good 
girl, and you shall have a shilling to save toward that 
new frock you told me of.” 

Betsy beamed delightedly as she brought back the 
dish of bacon and eggs. 

“Thank you very much, miss. I’ll see the letter 
comes to no harm. Will it have the Lunnon post¬ 
mark?” 

“Yes.” Miss Beverley cast her eyes about her 
before she replied. Then, “It’s from Cheapside,” 
she said softly. “And it relates to some—er— 
jewellery which my banker is taking care of for me. 
Has my morning paper come, do you know?” 

Betsy went in search of the paper. Meanwhile, 
Cleek hailed her as she passed with it, and de¬ 
manded a jug of hot water and a little more toast. 

“Cinnamon, old chap! You’re making a very 
good breakfast,” said Mr. Narkom, with some show 
of amazement. “Something new for you, too, if I 
remember rightly. Now breakfast never was your 
strong meal.” His voice trailed off into silence as 
Cleek administered a sharp kick to his shins under 
the table, and, in response to the amazed expression 
upon the superintendent’s face, murmured blandly: 
“Country air doesn’t harf give you an appetite, eh, 
Jim? That’s wot comes of hollerday time. Makes a 
new man of you, don’t it?” 


160 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

During which time his hands played idly with a 
piece of toast, which to the ordinary onlooker meant 
nothing, but which to Mr. Narkom signalled plainly 
the words, “I’m interested. Lady behind. Listen,” 
to which message the superintendent replied with a 
ierse, “All right.” 

So the toast was brought, and the two men made 
much show of eating and drinking, until the lady in 
question had quite finished her own breakfast, and, 
gathering up the loose pages of her newspaper, made 
her way leisurely out of the room, without so much 
as glancing in their direction. 

But it was astonishing how quickly Cleek finished 
his meal after that, hastening outside, only to catch 
a glimpse of her walking down the path rather 
hurriedly in the direction of the village, and saw her 
disappear round a bend of the hedge before he re¬ 
turned to the house. Mr. Narkom was waiting for 
him, scanning the paper with frowning brows. 

“Got a line on the whole wretched affair,” he said 
testily, pointing to a paragraph headed Mysterious 
Murder in Upminster. Oxford Don Found Dead in His 
House. “Those darn’reporters! There’s no hiding 
anything from them at all! I could have sworn we’d 
kept the affair quiet enough, but if they get wind of 
the young prince’s disappearance, old fellow, the 
fat will be in the fire with a vengeance. I’ve yet to 
answer to his father for his safety.” 

“Better cable the truth to him to-day, and promise 


Four Letters 


161 


further news by each succeeding twenty-four hours, 
or the papers will get ahead of you,” returned Cleek 
in a low-pitched voice, although seemingly they were 
the only people about the place at the moment. 
“ When the papers get on to a thing, the whole world 
knows of it inside of five minutes. It’ll be a big scoop 
for the newspaper that first gets hold of the story, and 
the good Governor’s worthy satellites in this coun¬ 
try will surely cable him word the instant the thing 
is published. And Scotland Yard will look like 
last year’s hat in a thunderstorm. Cable this 
morning, that’s my advice.” 

Mr. Narkom nodded. “I suppose I’ll have to. 
What are you going to do, old chap?” 

“Hang about here until the postman comes, 
and have a peep at the letters,” returned Cleek 
serenely. “I want to know what the lady is ex¬ 
pecting from her banker in Cheapside, among other 
things. And I want, if possible, to have a peep at 
Brentwood’s correspondence, if there’s a chance of 
getting a hand on it. I’ll just enquire what time 
the post comes in in this benighted little spot. 
Betsy’s the girl to tell me. Hi, Betsy!” as she passed 
through the little hall, a breakfast tray in her hands, 
“stop a minute, and tell me what time the post comes 
in?” 

“Eleven, sharp. Seems to me everyone’s expect¬ 
in’ letters,” she said, with a little grimace at him. 
“Don’t yer lady love let yer alone even on ’ollerday?” 


162 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

“No, because for why? Because I haven’t got 
one,” responded George Headland in his best fashion. 
“Got a picture palace here, Betsy? ’Cause if you 
have, we’ll do a show one night. And, by the way, 
which way to the post office, please?” 

“None of your sauce, Mr. Cheeky!” she retorted. 
“First to your right down the High Street. And 
you’re goin’ there, are yer? Well, if you’d be so 
kind as to pop these letters into the box for Mr. 
Brentwood, I’d be that grateful. He left me strict 
word as I wasn’t ter delay sendin’ them on, and I 
don’t see as I shall get a minute to run out this 
mornin’. Number Three’s down with a bilious attack. 
1 could tell him why—only I ain’t arsked. I’ll 
fetch the letters this minute.” 

She put down the tray on the hall settle, and darted 
over to the letter rack, pulling out two envelopes 
and bringing them to him. 

“There now! I ’aven’t got a pen ’andy! And 
they must be re-addressed. Lor! there’s one from 
Miss Ellison, too. I knows the handwritin’!” 

“I’ve a fountain-pen. Now tell me where to 
address ’em.” Cleek had whipped out his pen, and 
stood with it ready poised in his hand. 

“Oh, let me see. Messrs. Amos & Co., 

Jewellers, 16c Cheapside, London.’ That’ll find 
him all right. You’re fair kind, you are.” 

“Only too pleased.” Cleek gave her a heavy 
bow and then fetched a wink, and taking Mr. Nar- 


Four Letters 


163 


kom’s arm, strolled leisurely off with him into the 
garden. But once out of sight of the house, he 
stopped, put the letters into his pocket and went off 
down the street, in the direction Miss Beverley had 
taken, and, passing Bose Cottage a minute or two 
later, saw her in company with Miss Prudence, the 
old vicar’s daughter, standing by the gate, in obvious 
readiness to go out upon their errand of mercy. 

Miss Prudence was a small, angular female, narrow¬ 
shouldered and with a slight stoop. She wore un¬ 
relieved black, with just a little white cord sewn 
in the high collar, and a shady black lace hat upon 
her head, and her hands, thin and work-hardened as 
they were, still looked the hands of a lady as they 
rested upon the basket on her arm filled with pack¬ 
ages that looked like groceries to Cleek. Her blue 
eyes met his as he passed, and at the expression of 
them he understood just why the village people 
loved her. For they were eyes that one would trust 
on sight, and never find that trust confounded. 

“What a sweet-faced woman!” he said as they 
got out of earshot. “ That’s Miss Omritt, I take it—■ 
Miss Prudence Omritt, who is the Lady Bountiful 
of the village, from what Betsy says. She and her 
friend are off on an expedition of charity together. 
Well, good women are scarce in this bad old world. 
They should be cherished, every one of them.” 

“Quite right, old chap. But where the dickens 
are you taking me?” put in Mr. Narkom, gazing 


164 


The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

about him in some curiosity. “The post office is in 
the opposite direction.” 

“True, but we’re getting back to the Golden 
Arm, and up to my room, where I mean to do a little 
steaming of letter flaps on my own. Betsy, how¬ 
ever, has to be reckoned with. I wanted to have an¬ 
other peep at Rose Cottage, and also I was obliged 
to go out somewhere, so that she would think I had 
been to the post office. And now those letters will 
only miss one post out—which won’t do them a 
particle of harm. It’s ten to eleven now. We’ll 
get home in time for the postman, and I needn’t per¬ 
jure myself by saying I’d seen Miss Beverley when 
I hadn’t.” 

They entered the inn together and came across 
Betsy, duster in hand, hanging out of the little hall 
window and talking animatedly with some trades¬ 
man who was there. He left, with a sheepish grin, 
upon their approach, and Betsy turned round and 
saw them. 

“Hello! You gentlemen back a’ready? Well, 
you’ll not have to wait long for the postman now, 
for I see him cornin’ down the road, and if there’s a 
letter for you,” with a grin at Cleek, “you’ll ’aveit 
inside of a minute. Miss Beverley’s expectin’ one, 
too, and wants me to keep it for ’er, if she don’t 
come back to fetch it herself.” 

Cleek began to whistle and stroll up and down the 
hall, hands in pockets, while Mr. Narkom, with a 


Four Letters 


165 


hurried word about seeing someone, excused himself 
and withdrew. Betsy made a grimace at his re¬ 
treating back. 

“Nice lively sort er gentleman yer friend is, I 
must s ’y!” she said, with a toss of her head. “ P ’raps 
’e’s savin’ up all ’is words to speak ’em in his coffin. 
Momin’, postman. Nothin’ fer me, I suppose?” 

The village postman, a sturdy, broad-shouldered 
fellow, grinned at her and handed her a packet of 
letters. 

“No, none for you, Betsy. Not this time. Plenty 
fer the rest of the company, though. Here y’are. 
Good mornin’.” 

Betsy sorted the letters out and rammed them 
in their little groups, through the cord on the letter 
rack while Cleek stood idly by, watching her. 
There were numerous envelopes addressed to the 
master of the house, and a lot of assorted corres¬ 
pondence, amongst which stood out one for Miss 
Beverley, at “The Golden Arm, Upminster,” in a 
firm round hand. But there was nothing for him. 

“Bad luck,” said he with a sigh. “I’m forgotten 
this time, too. Well, well, I suppose I’ll hear from 
my folks some other day. Saw Miss Beverley just 
now at Rose Cottage. If you like, seeing as you say 
she wants her letter. I’ll run down with it to her, 
on my way out. Won’t be any trouble, if it’ll be a 
help—to you!” with much significance. He reached 
up and took the letter out of the rack. 


166 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

“All right,” said Betsy, beginning to flick her duster 
about at the sound of approaching footsteps. “That’s 
real kind of you. Here’s the master! I’d better be 
off. He don’t like me gossipin’ with the visitors.” 

And so the letters fell into Cleek’s hands quite 
naturally, and, before delivery, underwent the deli¬ 
cate operation of steaming along with the three 
others for Frank Brentwood. 

But it is not on record which of the letters was the 
one which caused Cleek to give a hasty exclamation 
of amazement, and, having made a hurried copy of 
it, to seal it up again, stuff it into his pocket with the 
others, and make off for the post office and a tele¬ 
graph form as quickly as possible. 

Miss Beverley was standing outside the shop as he 
entered it. He stopped and raised his hat, holding 
out the letter to her. 

“Betsy asked me to give this to you, if I saw you, 
madam,” he said politely. “She said you were 
expecting a letter and was anxious to get it, and as 
I was passing along here, I brought it with me on 
chance. No trouble, I assure you. Only too 
pleased.” 

Then he lifted his hat before her startled eyes could 
rest barely a minute upon his, and entered the post 
office. But there was an odd, set look upon his face. 


CHAPTER XX 


THE UNSEEN WATCHER 

H AVING posted the various letters, Cleek 
returned to the Golden Arm to hear that 
there was a young gentleman enquiring for 
him. This gentleman turned out to be Dollops, 
transformed, by reason of the bag Cleek had left at 
the station for him, into a black-haired, black- 
moustached young fellow for whom, he discovered, 
Betsy had already had “an eye.” 

“Hello!’’ sang out Cleek on sight of him. “Fancy 
seeing you down here already! Fixed up your 
quarters, have you?” 

Dollops nodded. 

“Ra-ther! Betsy here has found room for me, 
though she says they’re pretty well full up. But she 
can give me a shakedown for a night or two, at any 
rate. ’Ow are yer, matey?” 

“Fine!” Cleek winked and smiled at the boy, 
noting the quickness of perception he showed in 
instantly falling in with the run of things. “Come 
along with me now, and ’ave a country walk. You 
and me ’ave got a lot of things to say to each other. 
167 


168 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

This young feller, Betsy, is a rare chum of mine in 
Lunnon town.” 

Betsy smiled sweetly before making reply. 

“Well,” said she at last, “’e sure don’t seem sich a 
coffin-mate as t’other chap, anyhow. ’Im with the 
silent mouth, I means. Lor! I must be gettin’ on; 
it’s after twelve.” 

So saying, she scuttled down the passageway. 
Meanwhile Cleek, taking Dollops’s arm, led him 
out into the garden, and thence through the gate to 
the roadway. Once here, Dollops turned upon his 
master with an eagerness hard to suppress. 

“Guv’nor!” he whispered excitedly, “I ’aven’t 
’arf got a piece of news for yer! That ole johnny 
you tole me ter foiler ” 

“Yes, yes?” Cleek’s voice rapped out a sharp 
tattoo of excitement. “What’s happened to him? 
That’s exactly what I want to find out.” 

Dollops glanced quickly about him, to be sure no 
one was looking. 

“He’s dead!” 

“Dead? What do you mean, boy?” 

“Dead, sir, killed. I fahnd ’im lyin’ on ’is side 
in the back kitching of the shop this mornin’ before 
I come dahn ’ere. Summink seemed to tell me I 
ought ter go back to the shop and keep my eyes 
peeled fer further developments. And there ’e was. 
I ’ad ter break inter the plyce as I couldn’t get no 
answer to my ring, nor see anybody when I went in- 


The Unseen Watcher 


169 


side on pretence of buyin’ a few books. He was 
stabbed, sir, stabbed cruel wiv a funny-lookin’ cut 
over ’is ’eart, and not a breff in ’is pore old body! 
Fair got me, it did!” 

“Stabbed, you say? Good heavens above! Can 
the two things be linked up in any way? Did you 
make any inquiries? Set the police upon the case, 
or what?” 

“Yes, sir. I rang up Hammond immedjut. Then 
I started a few questions orf me own bat, rahnd 
the neighbourhood. Learnt that the old chap— 
whose name was Spender, same’s the feller up at the 
’Ouse on the ’Ill, sir—was a bit of a ’ermit and loved 
sittin’ among ’is books, seein’ no one, and doin’ 
nuffink. That ’e didn’t appear to sell anythink 
much in the book line, and that the neighbours often 
wondered ’ow ’e made ’is living, wiv so few custom¬ 
ers. And that every now and agin ’e’d set to and 
furbish up the place, and put out placards of things 
fer sale, to hurry things up a little. And after a 
time, everythink ’d go slack again, and the sale 
placards would fall down in his window and lie 
there until they fair mouldered away, or until sich 
time as he perked up again and got busy spring- 
cleanin’ once more.” 

“Sort of Dr.-Jekyl-and-Mr.-Hyde business!” 

Dollops made a wry grimace. 

“Well, I don’t know them two gen’lemen, sir, but 
if you says so it must be true. Not that there ain’t 


170 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

some black sheep in the world wot believes nuffink 
from nobody. And there’s summink else, sir, so 
sit tight and ’old yer ’at on. I set me peepers on 
’er!” 

“Who, Dollops?” 

“Not Miss Lome, sir, which is the only her which 
concerns you, I knows. Not that h’angel, sir. No; 
the she-devil, the hell-cat wiv the dagger-whiskers. 
That fiend Margot, sir. And she’s in it, I lay, right 
up to ’er wicked neck! That’s why I ’urried dahn 
’ere first thing I could, ter warn yer. You’ve got to 
’op it, sir, as soon as convenient, else she’ll be settin’ 
of ’er fingernails inter yer, and won’t let go till you’re 
gone ter glory!” 

Cleek laughed softly, and squeezed Dollops’s arm. 

“I know, lad,” he said in a low-pitched voice, 
“for I’ve seen the lady down here already, and her 
newest consort with her. She was putting up at this 
very inn.” 

“You ain’t stayin’ in the same ’ouse wiv ’er, are 
yer, Guv’nor?” 

“Hold on a minute, boy. No, because she’s gone 
away. I happened to overhear a conversation be¬ 
tween her and her latest partner in crime, and I 
gathered that they were leaving the whole affair, 
as he had overslept himself, or something of the kind, 
and didn’t turn up at the House on the Hill in time to 
lay his hands upon the Amber Ship. And she also 
mentioned the Balankha-Dahs.” 


The Unseen Watcher 


171 


“The Balankha whats, sir?” 

Cleek put back his head and laughed heartily at 
the boy’s amazement. 

“That was even one too many for you, wasn’t it,” 
he returned with a quick change to seriousness once 
more. “The Balankha-Dahs, I said. And that 
is the name of a secret society that has one of its 
headquarters in London, and its membership con¬ 
sists of every fanatic in the way of a religious maniac 
who can write Hindoo in the space where his nation¬ 
ality is demanded.” 

“Hindoo! But there ain’t any Hindoos in this 
’ere horrible business, sir; only Chinks and English¬ 
men,” returned Dollops with emphatic excitement. 

“No, that’s what gets me guessing. Only Chinese 
and English—the two of which make a concoction 
which is highly seasoned enough to be able to do 
without any further mingling of races. And yet— 
well, well, time will show. But don’t worry over 
Margot and her crew, Dollops. She’s dropped out 
of it, of that I am perfectly certain. You’ve no more 
reason to fear in that quarter.” 

“I’m not so sure, sir. The pair of ’em were 
standin’ in Victoria Station and quarrellin’ like as 
though summink ’ad thoroughly upset ’em. They 
was jabberin’ away in French so’s I couldn’t under¬ 
stand what they said, but at larst they parted, 
and she went towards the bookin’ orfice for Upmin- 
ster. ’E went outside and ’opped into a ’bus goin’ 


172 


The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

north. I saw ’er book a first-class ticket for Up- 
minster, positive, sir; then she swings away from 
the bookin’ orfice, and starts after ’im. And then 
I comes dahn ’ere straightaway. But she’ll be dahn 
’ere before long, I lay, and you’ll ’ave ter look pretty 
nippy clearin’ up things afore she comes.” 

“H’m.” Cleek stopped a moment, and taking his 
chin between his thumb and forefinger, pinched it 
hard, as one who would say, 44 Well, what the dickens 
am I to do next?” Then he turned to Dollops, 
with a glint of adventure showing in his eyes. 

“Gad!” said he, 44 it will be like the good old days, 
when I was her quarry, to be under the same roof 
with her once more! Always providing the lady 
does show up at the Golden Arm again. Honey- 
mooners, that’s what they were pretending to be. 
I wonder what story she will pull about her husband, 
if he doesn’t return with her? She’s artful, is Mar¬ 
got. She’ll crop up in the most unexpected places, 
and if she is coming back to Upminster, then the 
Amber Ship is somewhere in the vicinity, or I’ll 
miss my guess. But where? Dollops, be a good 
fellow, and run back to the inn and bring me my 
bag which you’ll find under the bed, all ready packed 
for this morning’s task. I’m doing a little peddling 
stunt up at the Manor House, and I think I might 
manage to do the necessary changing here in these 
woods.” 

i Dollops was off like a skyrocket. Meanwhile 


The Unseen Watcher 


17S 


Cleek, taking out his pipe, rubbed it ruminatively 
upon his sleeve, filled it, and, seating himself upon a 
stile, lit it and puffed away in quiet rumination. 
So the other old chap, who was so ridiculously like 
the Octavius Spender who had been murdered two 
nights ago in the House on the Hill, was dead—mur¬ 
dered, too! Strange that both those two should have 
met their end like this! By the hand of an unknown 
assassin, and within two days of each other. And 
the name—Spender! They were of one family, 
surely, that went without saying. Brother and 
sister, perhaps, or cousins. 

He thought of the wonderful disguise under which 
the woman had hidden her sex, and then let his 
thoughts wander back to what Dollops had told him 
of the old man in his second-hand bookshop in the 
Charing Cross Road. Funny! There was some 
link which bound these two irrevocably together, 
and if he could discover what that was, no doubt the 
whole problem would be solved. 

Then, quite suddenly, an odd sensation of being 
watched stole over him as he sat there, puffing at his 
pipe and trying to fit the pieces of this jigsaw puzzle 
together into some semblance of harmony. He felt, 
indeed, that someone’s eyes were boring through his 
back, and he shifted uneasily in his seat. He was 
facing the road in his present position, with his back 
to the woods. And it was a glorious and peaceful 
morning, with no one and nothing in sight save a 


174 


The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

chestnut horse with shaggy white fetlocks that was 
grazing in an adjacent field. There was a skylark 
somewhere in the cloudless blue above him, and a soft 
wind stirred the leaves of the trees, letting them whis¬ 
per to each other in hushed harmony. 

Yet the sensation still continued. Instinctively 
his hand felt his hip pocket and satisfied itself that 
its contents was intact. Then he slipped quietly 
from the stile, made a pretence of surveying the 
landscape, glanced over at the woods, and met the 
steady gaze of a pair of coal-black eyes set in a white 
face staring at him through the trees. Then, with 
a sudden swift gesture, he dropped silently down 
into the long grasses at the foot of the stile, just as a 
bullet sang through the air a foot above him, and 
he heard the crashing of running human footsteps in 
the undergrowth. 


CHAPTER XXI 

HER LADYSHIP’S NEW MAID 

F OR some seconds Cleek lay there, not making 
one move, not uttering one sound, at one 
with the long grasses and the peaceful, 
silent countryside; but in his hand was the little 
silver-plated revolver which had served him for many 
years as a tried and trusted friend, and every faculty 
was wide awake. 

The crashing through the undergrowth continued 
as of some person speeding away lest discovery should 
follow. At length the footsteps died away, all was 
peaceful once more, and down the road some distance 
ahead of him Cleek could glimpse Dollops, bag in 
hand, walking leisurely along and gazing up at the 
sky. Then he saw the boy look around quickly, 
drop into cover against the hedge for a moment, and 
then come speeding toward him. 

Cleek popped his head up out of his hiding place 
with a little laugh. 

“Nearly got me that time, eh, Dollops?” he said in 
a low undertone. “That devil in the undergrowth 
took a pot shot at me and missed. Looks, though, as 
if they know who and what I am!” 

175 


176 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

Dollops’s face was white and scared. “Gawda- 
mussy, sir!” he ejaculated, his jaw trembling, his 
eyes misted over with boyish tears. “If they ’ad got 
yer strite, sir! I’d never ’ave rested till I’d screwed 
their dirty necks right rahnd and dropped ’em in a 
mill pond! Then I’d been and gorn and did the 
’eavenly act meself, and ’oped ter join yer with the 
h’angels as soon as I’d worked off me time fer mis- 
doin’s on this ’ere earf! You’re all right, sir? Cer¬ 
tain sure?” 

Cleek smiled, and got quietly to his feet, dusting 
himself down. 

“Quite, dear lad. But who’d have thought it? 
Who? A bolt from the blue like that! And so un¬ 
expected! And yet—I’ve had my suspicions for 
some time. Now I’m sure!” 

“Sure of what, sir?” 

“Sure of a good many things that I’m not telling 
you at this moment. Boy, that gave me a shaking. 
And I don’t think I’ll choose these woods again for 
making changes in. I’ll hie me to a safer cover. 
Come along! Back to the inn with the pair of us, and 
then I’ve more work for you. You’re a tinker for 
ferreting things out for me, and I don’t know what I’d 
do without you. Now, here’s another set of instruc¬ 
tions. Get on the phone for London, and, using the 
code, find out all you can of the murder of that old 
fellow up in the Edgware Road. Bring the news to 
me at the inn, and if I’m not back, wait there till I 


17? 


Her Ladyship's New Maid 

return. Or, no—look here!” He bent his head and 
spoke steadily and hurriedly as they made their quick 
way back to the village, keeping his eyes always 
glancing about him for a possible unseen watcher, 
while Dollops nodded several times in succession, 
and kept ejaculating, “Yes, sir.” “I understand, 
sir.” “I’ve got it quite clear, sir,” every time Cleek 
paused in his rapid lowered speech. 

They parted outside the inn, Dollops to go upon 
his errand and Cleek to run upstairs to his room, 
and, noting that there was no one about at this 
time, as all the holiday-makers were out enjoying 
the sunshine, and the maids at work below stairs, 
thanked his lucky stars, and hastened on with his 
toilette. 

Some three quarters of an hour later, Dorothy, the 
kitchenmaid at the Manor House was just taking a 
breath of sunshine at the back door, and looking 
out over the kitchen garden. Her heart was in her 
eyes and her thoughts harking back to her sweet¬ 
heart, young Joe, the blacksmith’s boy, who had just 
popped up a moment to have a secret kiss and a word 
with her, when the stooped, bent figure of an old 
man came hobbling up the twisting pathway that led 
through the gate assigned to the tradesmen at the 
left of the main entrance of the Manor House. He 
wended his way slowly toward her, his old weather¬ 
beaten face careworn and lined, and his grizzled 


178 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

beard making a tattered lace work of age upon his 
breast. 

Dorothy came back to earth immediately, and 
her young face hardened. She eyed his covered tray 
with animosity. 

“Don’t want no bootlaces to-day, thank you; no, 
nor matches neither,” she said tartly, turning away 
and about to enter the kitchen again; but his shaking 
old hand upon her sleeve stopped her, and she swung 
round and met the watery blue eyes, and something 
in the pathetic droop of his figure called for her ready 
sympathy. 

“Ah, don’t go, missy!” said this poor old specimen 
of overworked and underfed humanity. “I’ve some 
pretties ’ere ter tempt yer bright face. Jist take a 
peep under this cover! Look, laces, and jools fit 
fer a queen!” Speaking, the old man flicked back 
one corner of the greasy bit of green baize which 
covered his tray, and let her have a glimpse of the 
shining, glittering objects underneath. “ ’And-made 
laces, too, missy,” he went on in a low, coaxing 
voice, “and cheap for the young leddies like you. 
Ole Tom likes ter see a pretty face, an’ll make his 
price accordin’. Come, now, take only a peep, an’ 
you’re sure to fall!” 

Dorothy, being young, and in love, knew her 
weakness even as she did peep into the contents of the 
tray where lay a marvellous collection of chains and 
necklaces, gleaming like real gold, and set with 


179 


Her Ladyships New Maid 

wonderful gems of bright glass. Her fingers strayed 
over them, toying with each in turn. They stopped 
at an imitation turquoise brooch with diamonds 
sparkling round it. She looked up into his face. 

“That’s pretty,” she said. “How much fer that, 
ole Tom? ’Twould make my blue cotton look fair 
beautiful, that it would.” 

“Ole Tom” surveyed her, grinning. 

“That there’s really two shillin’, but it’ll be six¬ 
pence less for you, missy,” he said, and picking it 
up swiftly, pinned it to her frock. “That is, if 
you’ll fetch out the others and show ’em the rest 
of my tray, like a little dear. I’ve walked five 
miles this mornin’, an’ not a touch of breakfast, 
either! And I don’t make more’n sixpence a day, 
if I makes that. It do be a ’ard life, this peddlin’. 
Don’t want no scrubbin’ done, do yer? No winders 
cleaned, I s’pose? I’d be thankful fer a job, and I’d 
do it cheap. Ah, now, take the pin, sweetie! It sure 
becomes yer.” 

Dorothy hesitated no longer. “I’ll take it,” 
said she emphatically. “And I’ll tell the others 
about yer, too, yer pore ole man. ’Ere, take a seat 
in the sunshine a minute. Cook’ll be here soon, and 
that new maid wot the mistress ’as got from Lunnon. 
Mayhap she’ll like a look at yer things, too. And 
Minnie the ’ousemaid is fond of trinkets. But as fer 
scrubbin’! You ain’t got the strength of a chicken, 
that I’m sure. And you’d maybe fall outer the 


180 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

winders. Still, I’ll see. Wait a minute. Father 
Christmas, will yer?” 

Ole Tom threw a kiss at her with his trembling 
old fingers, his lips murmured a shaky, “Gawd bless 
yer!” which went right down to the bottom of 
Dorothy’s tender young heart. She ran into the 
kitchen and spoke briefly to the cook, who came out 
with her, bringing a cup of steaming hot tea and a 
piece of bread and dripping at the side of the saucer. 

“Good mornin’,” said she in her brisk voice, 
beaming down at him. “’Ere’s some breakfast for 
ye, as Dorothy tells me ye ain’t ’ad none. And rest 
yer bones awhiles in the sunshine. ’Er leddyship 
orlways tells me ter give to the pore and ’ungry, 
though some of ’em that comes up ’ere certain don’t 
look neither in spite of their whinin’ tales. Let’s ’ave 
a look at yer things. That’s a nice bit er lace, now! 
’Twould do splendid fer me new blouse, Dorothy, if 
it’s not too expensive. Sixpence, ye say? But 
that’s real cheap. Ye’ll make no livin,’ ole man, with 
them prices, I kin tell ye. Still, the other girls ’ud 
like a peep, too, I’m sartin. Dorothy, run in an’ 
tell that new Marie—’er what’s jist come from 
Lunnon to ’elp with her leddyship’s dresses and 
maid ’er—to come an ’ave a look. She looks like a 
creatur wot likes jewellery, that she do!” 

Dorothy went into the house. Meanwhile Ole 
Tom sat sipping his tea in the sunshine and munch¬ 
ing his bread and dripping, while Cook bustled 


181 


Her Ladyships New Maid 

about the kitchen garden, gathering a few herbs for 
her stew-pot, and chattering away to him, in her 
kindly fashion, of the doings of the town. 

“Never heerd of the dreadful murder took place 
up at ole Perfesser Spender’s house night afore last, 
I suppose?” she said. 

Ole Tom shook his grizzled head. “No? Well, 
it was fair ’orrible. I alius thought as this was the 
peacefulest spot this side of ’eaven, and yet ’ere we 
are with a real live crime takin’ place, and a Chinese 
prince a-comin’ with ’is fine jools, and all sorts of 
’orrible things a-’appenin’ every second! Dorothy 
says as ’ow you c’d clean winders, but I feel a bit 
uncertain of that, you’re that shaky. But there’s 
nothin’ else of work I could give ye. And I kin 
see as ye need it. I’d not risk ye at the top floor, 
but the first and second ye might do, seein’ as there’s 
a balcony outside of each on ’em. On’y ye must 
kip out of ’er leddyship’s sight. She’s fair scairt of 
strangers, always. Still, you’ll not ’arm a fly, I’m 
thinkin’. And ’twould save me, for it’s my turn 
to wash ’em this week, and I’m late, fixin’ with this 
new arrival an’ all.” 

Ole Tom put in a gentle query. “Got visitors then?” 

“No, only the new maid fer ’er leddyship. Sent 
down from London. And a smart-lookin’ gel, too. 
Though I don’t much like her town ways. Still, 
that’s because I’m country, I daresay, and nothin’ 
agin ’er. But she’s— Ssh! here she comes now.” 


182 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

Ole Tom looked up quickly, to see a tall, black- 
haired, black-eyed chit of a girl, in a dark dress 
with neat white collar and cuffs, and a little black 
alpaca apron, and with the quick, darting movements 
of a bright bird. She held a muddied evening skirt 
in her hand, at which she was brushing vigorously, 
and her brows were frowning. 

“This ees vair’ dairty, ’ow do you say?” she said 
in a musical voice as she brushed vigorously at the 
offending stains. “And madame, she mak’ a 
grrait to-do that it must be clean’ at once. I wairk 
and I wairk, but I cannot remove it—so! Such a 
peety, too! Eh, this ees the ole man you spik of, 
Dorothy?” She dived her swift fingers down into 
the tray, let them trickle through all the neatly laid- 
out jewellery and oddments that lay there, throwing 
them in an untidy heap. Then she laughed—an 
insolent, harsh little laugh. 

“Ma foi! What poor imitations! So common, 
so sheap! Not for me, non , non /” 

She turned on her heel, retracing her steps with 
another little laugh and a shrug of the shoulders, as 
Cook ejaculated a loud, “Well, I never! Sich airs 
and graces!” and Dorothy gasped, and made a face 
at her retreating back; and Ole Tom, stung a moment 
out of his seeming uninterest and age, bit his lips, 
and put his hand up to his face to shield his eyes. 

For the new lady’s maid was plainly Margot! 


CHAPTER XXII 


FIKO, THE FINDER 

S O THAT was the reason Dollops saw her booh¬ 
ing that first-class ticket to Upminster at 
Victoria station, then? The feminine half 
of the honeymoon couple had returned in an¬ 
other guise—and the case was growing in interest 
and intricacy every minute. For if Margot were 
on the spot, the Amber Ship could not be far away. 
That she was after the famous jewel Cleek knew 
beyond question. And Margot in England meant that 
her bodyguard of cut-throats were also straying the 
Island over, acting upon her orders and keeping her 
posted as to its whereabouts. H’m. Then he, too, 
would stay here for the present. 

The disappearance of the young prince was the 
next thing for investigation. He was certainly not 
hidden in the cellars of the House on the Hill. That 
part of the programme, under Mr. Narkom’s capable 
guidance, had been thoroughly carried out by Cog- 
well and his satellites. And the Force in London 
had been put on the watch, too. Something, or 
someone, had carried the lad away, with his precious 
burden, and—God knew what they had done to him! 
183 


184 


The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

Murdered, doubtless—a young boy like that, with 
all the promise of a great future in his own land 
before him! It seemed the only possible line to 
follow, there. Meantime, the whole village must 
be watched, every house searched, and any news 
that they could find of the boy, however vague, 
followed up immediately. 

And in the meantime, here, in the Manor House 
itself, was Margot! If she did but know who he was! 
But of the safety of his present disguise Cleek was 
quite assured. He even indulged himself in a little 
smile. Meanwhile, garrulous Cook stared after 
the vanishing lady’s maid’s figure with hostility in 
her eye. 

“Well, if that ain’t the dirtiest trick!” she ejacu¬ 
lated, with vigorous noddings of her head. “A-tum- 
blin’ of all ’is pretties together like that! She 
won’t be stayin’ long ’ere, I fancy, if she takes on so. 
’Ere, ole man, I’ll take this piece of lace, and I 
c’d do with that little gold safety pin, too, if it’s 
cheap. And after you’ve rested awhile, you kin 
get to work on them winders, afore her leddyship 
catches sight of yer.” 

Ole Tom, with a deep bow, made her a present of 
the pin for her kindness to an old man, he said, and, 
after her delighted thanks, followed her into the 
kitchen to receive the bucket and leathers for his 
task. Then up by the back stairs to the first floor, 
where the drawing-room windows were his portion. 


185 


Fiko, the Finder 

“Be as quick as you kin about ’em, won’t yer?” 
admonished Cook, ere she left him to his task. “I 
wouldn’t like ’er leddyship to ketch you ’ere. She’d 
be that cross with me—bein’ sich a nervous leddy. 
But you wouldn’t ’urt a flea, you wouldn’t. And af¬ 
ter these, Mr. Frank’s ’ull want doin’, and then we’ll 
see what else there’s to be done. Hurry up now.” 

The garrulous woman left the room, and Cleek 
was alone at last to pursue his investigations. He 
cleaned the first long window studiously, and then, 
glancing about him to make sure no one was on the 
lookout, peered here and there at the furniture, 
taking in every detail with photographic accuracy 
upon the mirror of his mind. It was a beautifully 
furnished place, long and L-shaped at one end. This 
formed a sort of little boudoir, in which, if one were 
sitting there and the drawing-room door opened, one 
could not, for the time being, be seen. 

He darted over to the little mahogany bureau 
which was obviously her ladyship’s private secre¬ 
taire, and tried the drawers. They were all un¬ 
locked except the top one, but a bunch of skeleton 
keys very soon did the trick, and he had it open in 
an instant. It contained a few papers, tied with 
red ribbon, little bundles of letters, and a baby’s 
photograph, upon which was written “Frank, aged 
six months”; attached to this by a band of faded 
blue ribbon, which had obviously once been in a 
baby’s frock, was a little battered red shoe with a 


186 


The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

worn heel. Cleek put the things back with reverent 
fingers, feeling that he had obtruded without due 
consideration, when his fingers knocked against 
something hard, and closed round it. He drew it 
out. It was a little toy of a revolver with one 
bullet chamber empty. 

Footsteps upon the stairs made him slip it hastily 
into his pocket, push the drawer to quickly, and dash 
back to his work. He was barely a second there 
when the door opened, and Marie, the lady’s-maid, 
came in. 

She stepped softly, as one who did not wish to 
be heard, and glanced cautiously about her. Then, 
sighting him, she gave a little exclamation of 
amazement, and came farther into the room. 

“Oho!” said she with a little mocking laugh. 
“The oP pedler, eh? And cleaning windows you 
are now, are you? Oh, but you are a clever one, yes! 
Vair 5 vair’ clever! You tak’ in the ol ’ cook and the 
young Dorothy, but you do not tak’ in Marie, non , 
non! Marie, she ’ave ze sharp ’ead upon ’er shoul¬ 
ders! Come now, what is eet you want?” 

For a moment Cleek was so taken aback that he 
did not know what to answer. Suppose, by some 
inauspicious trick of fate, she had recognized who 
he was! She who knew him in the old “Vanishing 
Cracksman” days, and knew, too, that amazing 
gift of his wherein he could actually change his 
features for that of another man in twenty seconds’ 


Filco, the Finder 187 

time. Suppose she had, somehow, penetrated his. 
disguise and got wind of who he was! 

Then he steeled himself and took a chance shot 
Duplicity must meet duplicity, if it is to be van¬ 
quished. He whipped round upon her with finger to 
lips, and whispered the one word, “Balankha-Dahs!” 

The chance shot went home. He saw her face 
change and become crafty, saw the heavy lids droop 
a moment over the black eyes, and the red lips 
tighten. Then she shrugged her shoulders, and 
spoke in her low, perfectly pitched tones. 

“Aha! You ’ave been sent to see me, eh?” she 
said softly, giving him a bewitching smile. “You 
zink Margot ees a little slow—’ow do you say it?— 
too long, eh? But you do not know Margot. Tell 
your masters, Margot ’as given ’er word, and she 
will keep it at all costs. Ze priests shall ’ave their 
precious jewel—for a price—in good time. But 
eet ees not so easy, non! Vair’ deefeecult, indeed. 
Margot mus’ move vair’ slow, but vair’ sure. Tell 
zem, zey ’ave eet soon. Margot ’ave got ’er 
feengers almos’ upon eet now. Vair’ soon. You 
tell zem zat.” 

Cleek’s eyes brightened at her words. She had 
got her fingers almost upon it? Then perhaps she 
knew where it was. 

“Then,” he said softly, glancing about him to make 
sure no one heard, 4 4 you have an idea, mademoiselle, 
where the jewel is hidden?” 


188 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

She shrugged her shoulders and laughed a little. 
“I ’ave an idea, oui. But I tell it to you not. Who 
knows but that you get there fairst, and claim ze 
price instead of me? Ah, non , non! Zat ees not for 
Margot! Still, I ’ave ze ideas, oui. And I am ’ere 
for ze time, until I mak’ sure of zem! Take your 
message back to your masters, as I ’ave tell you.” 

She was just about to leave the room when Cleek, 
still limping in his guise of old man, went over to her 
and touched her arm. His misted watery eyes met 
hers. The nearness of this woman who had worked 
so amazingly long and hard for his capture, to wreak 
her vengeance upon him, gave an added piquancy 
to the moment. 

“Her ladyship, you think she knows anything of 
it?” he whispered. 

44 1 ’ave been trying’ to take ze mud off ’er gown, 
ze mud from ze ’Ouse on ze ’Ill, so I know zat she 
was zere zen,” she whispered significantly, with a 
wink and a nod at the direction of the closed door. 
“Mak’ of eet what you will. But she ’ave not ze 
jewel, non. I tink not. Ozzers. Goo’-by, Mis- 
taire Curious! Ah, and what ees your name, hein?” 

44 They call me Fiko, my masters the priests,” he 
replied softly. 44 Fiko the Finder. And they send 
me upon all their secret messages. I will carry back 
your word, ma belle. And I doubt not but that 
you will be successful in your quest. I wish you all 
good luck, speedy good luck. I should like indeed 


189 


Fiko, the Finder 

to see you win. One day, when I can shed this dis¬ 
guise, I will call and see you, and we will better im¬ 
prove our acquaintance. If I may be so per¬ 
mitted ?” 

“Of a surety.” She laughed at him and pouted 
into his face. “Thou art an old man, surely, to 
flirt with the young ones. But thou hast a proverb 
which runs that there is no fool like an old fool. 
And if thou wilt. Au revoir .” 

Then she was gone as silently as she had come, 
and Cleek hurried back to his task, making such 
good progress that when Cook returned some ten 
minutes later she found him giving the final polish 
to one huge plate-glass pane, and expressed her de¬ 
light at his work. 

“Well, I never!” she exclaimed, with a shake of her 
head. “You does your work well, I must say! 
And fer an old ’un, too! Come along now to Mr. 
Frank’s room; that’s ’er leddyship’s son, and she’s 
that partikler about everythink belongin’ ter ’im. 
But they ain’t sich long ones as the drorin’ room, 
and won’t take sich a time to do.” Then she 
sighed a heavy sigh, and shook her head. “Heigho!” 

“And what makes you sigh like that, ma’am?” 
asked Cleek, as he took up his leather and started 
his task. She smiled at him, well pleased that he 
should notice her feelings. 

“Ah, it do be that sad about Mr. Frank. ’E’s 
gone away now, you know.” 


190 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

“Oh? And why has he gone away? On holler- 
day, I suppose?” 

“Then you suppose wrong, old man. No, Mr. 
Frank’s been and gone and ’ad a dreadful fuss-up 
with his father, Sir George, and ’im’s turned the 
young man out of the ’ouse! And ’er leddyship’s that 
’eart-broken. She even went so far as to go up to the 
’Ouse on the ’Ill that very night when the orful mur¬ 
der took place—though natcherly she didn’t know it 
was a-comin’ orf, bless ’er tender ’eart! But she 
went up there that night ter see if she could see ’im.” 

“Ah, then ’e was stayin’ up there, I suppose?” 

Cook shook her head again. Her eyes were 
reminiscent. “No—but ’im and the ole gentleman 
were fair friends. And m’leddy knew Mr. Frank was 
a-goin’ up there to see ’im that night. And she 
was worrited something shockin’. So she comes 
to me and she says, ‘Cook,’ says she, ‘if Sir George 
wants ter see me, tell ’im I’m lyin’ down with a 
’eadache,’ says she. ‘Fer I’m a-goin’ up to see Mr. 
Frank,’ says she, ‘and find out what ’e’s plannin’ 
ter do.’ And I, that’s been with her ever since Mr. 
Frank were a mere baby in arms, says, ‘Orl right, 
m’lady,’ and lets ’er out of the back door.” 

Cleek made a pretence of rubbing the window, 
although his faculties were all alert. 

“And did she go then?” he said in his quavery, old 
man’s voice. 

“She did. And she come back again, never 


Fiko, the Finder 191 

’avin’ seen ’im. Only spoke a few words wiv the 
old gentleman, she said ter me, and ’eard ’im say 
somethin’ about a young Chinese prince ’oo’d 
come ter stay with ’im. Then she come back again. 
But she ruined ’er beeootiful dress, she did—white 
satin with gold lace it was, too, fer it was all be¬ 
draggled with the mud. That there Marie’s a- 
tryin’ ter clean it orf now. Well, I must be goin* 
down, else my puddin’ll burn. Come down when 
you’ve finished, ole man.” 

So her ladyship had been up at the House on the 
Hill, had she? And Margot knew that, too. Cook 
was an acquaintance to cultivate, with her garrulous 
tongue. Things were falling into his hands with a 
vengeance. He felt for the little revolver in his 
pocket, sucking in his lips and shaking his head, 
and pinching up his chin between a thumb and fore¬ 
finger meanwhile. Now what the dickens was her 
ladyship doing up there on that particular night? 
Her story of going to see her son was a poor one, on 
the face of it, for young Brentwood had been staying 
openly, from what he said, at the Golden Arm, where 
she could have spoken with him any time, obviously. 
But it served to convince Cook, good woman, who 
obviously took everything her lady said as gospel 
truth. And that Margot had an inkling of suspicion 
with regard to her justified her—Margot’s—appear¬ 
ance at the Manor House under these present cir¬ 
cumstances. 


192 


The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

What was the solution of the tragedy? Ah, what? 
He put down his leather and, tip-toeing across the 
room, began a rapid (investigation of a big chest of 
drawers which stood over by the right-hand side of the 
chimney-piece, starting with this as, according to 
his rule, containing the most things which were out 
of sight, and therefore more often out of mind. The 
drawers were all unlocked, and contained an assort¬ 
ment of old ties, collars, worn socks, and garments 
which had obviously been discarded in the young 
gentleman’s hurried packing. 

Cleek’s fingers ran through the drawers rapidly, 
finding nothing of any account. Then he came upon 
a packet of letters, glanced at the top one, read it 
through, and as he pushed the letter back into its 
envelope—it was signed “Maud” and was brief, 
though loverlike—a little flat white packet fell out 
upon the floor. 

Cleek’s hand closed upon it instantly. He opened 
it and sniffed at the contents. And then his face 
went grim, and taking out his pocketbook he put 
the little folded packet inside it. 

Another clue this time, and an important one. 

For the little packet contained cyanide of 
potassium, and cyanide of potassium was the poison 
which lay upon the lips of the dead woman up at the 
House on the Hill! 


CHAPTER XXIII 


A VISIT TO THE DOCTOR’S 

N OTHING more of interest was forthcoming 
in the remainder of his investigation of 
Frank Brentwood’s room, and Cleek, having 
finished his task with much rapidity, and after 
thoroughly examining a portrait, obviously of Lady 
Brentwood, which hung over her son’s bed, made his 
way down to the kitchen and Cook’s garrulity once 
more. 

He stayed gossiping with her for some time, re¬ 
ceived a shilling for his trouble, and promised to come 
back again next week and do the remaining windows 
for the same money. And then, with a tip of his 
hat to the good woman, and another for Dorothy, 
who favoured him with a sunny smile in return, made 
his way back down the tradesmen’s entrance, and 
out through the gate into the highway once more. 

Return to the Golden Arm undetected was easily 
effected, for lunch was in progress of preparation. 
Cleek could slip up to his room, turn the key, and 
divest himself of his disguise quite easily, and as 
George Headland descend the staircase once more. 
Here he sought out Mr. Narkom, and had an hour’s 

193 


194 


The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

conference with him, unravelling and discussing 
several knotty points. 

“That packet pretty well proves that Frank Brent¬ 
wood is the party, old chap,” ejaculated the superin¬ 
tendent, after Cleek’s recital of the morning’s hap¬ 
penings. “But, good God, the unknown person w T ho 
shot at you! Sounds like Margot herself, doesn’t 
it? And the dickens of it being that you had a 
talk with her afterwards, in another disguise, and 
she never even twigged! You amazing beggar! 
I don’t wonder she still grieves your loss as Lord 
High Chieftain of her party of cut-throats.” 

Cleek smiled and laid his hand a moment upon 
his friend’s arm. Then the queer little one-sided 
smile travelled up his cheek again. 

“Aha! That’s as may be. The amusing part of 
the whole affair is that I have absolutely hoodwinked 
the lady and pulled the wool over her eyes com¬ 
pletely, and she counts me, for the nonce, as her 
ally! Rather delicate tactics, that, eh? I think 
I may count that as a feather in my cap, though of 
what colour I am not yet quite sure.” 

“Got any ideas upon the case, then, old chap?” 

“H’m. A few. There are some points I can’t 
follow up—or rather, can’t find the end they lead to. 
But when those are unravelled and followed con¬ 
clusively to their destination, we may be somewhat 
surprised at their findings. You’ve fixed the time of 
the inquest, then?” 


A Visit to the Doctor’s 


195 


“Yes. To-morrow afternoon, at 2:30. I’ve in¬ 
terviewed the coroner—one of those pedantic fellows 
who doubt everything and everybody on sight— 
and we’ve arranged for it to take place up at the 
House on the Hill, in the dining room. That seemed 
the largest spot I could think of. The police station 
couldn’t accommodate the thing at all, I discovered. 
Wants rebuilding badly. I’ll put a word in for that 
when this case is over. But does that suit you, old 
chap?” 

“Excellently. And it gives me just one more day 
for the solution of the riddle. Twenty-four more 
active hours, unless we let ’em return a verdict of 
‘murder by person or persons unknown.’ Now, 
what about that house-to-house search?” 

Mr. Narkom drew out his little notebook, and pro¬ 
ceeded with the details of every household and its 
occupants, marking each off methodically with his 
pencil. 

“Not a trace of anything or anybody. The young 
prince has disappeared as though he had never been 
born. And if it’s foul play, it’s the most devilishly 
clever bit of management it’s been my misfortune 
to encounter. To-morrow, too, is my last day for 
the mail out to China this week. I cabled ’em the 
news briefly, but was pretty hopeful. That poor 
devil of a governor will be off his head with anxiety 
if the young prince isn’t discovered or his body un¬ 
earthed, and the Yard will have the very dickens of a 


196 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

time, too. Oh, Lord! it’s an eternal worry, every way 
you look at it.” 

Cleek lit a cigarette and sat puffing it for a mo¬ 
ment. “And you haven’t caught a glimpse of a clue 
in any direction, eh?” he asked. “What about Miss 
Omritt’s cottage? Give that a thorough over¬ 
hauling?” 

“Yes, although the lady was exceedingly agitated, 
and made a great fuss over it, too. It’s an un¬ 
pleasant job, conducting an official hunt over 
people’s places. But nothing was forthcoming. 
We’re going over the Manor House to-morrow 
morning, and that place out at Porch Pool—Ponders, 
it’s called—where a chap called Amers hangs out. 
Not that we’re expecting anything in that direction, 
of course, but no stone must be left unturned. 
Gad! I wish we could find some trace of the little 
prince, I do indeed! It’s enough to send a fellow 
daft with anxiety, when he holds himself responsible 
to the lad’s father for his personal safety, too!” 

“Yes, it’s the failure in a trust that hurts most of 
all,” returned Cleek sadly, looping and unlooping 
his watch-chain with his thumb and forefinger as he 
bent his expert mind upon the case and tried to see 
through the fogged darkness about him something 
of the clarity of day. “Sometimes, old friend, I 
feel I’d like to give up this business—take a place 
up the river and grow roses, and live the life of a 
decent, law-respecting citizen, with the wife of one’s 


A Visit to the Doctor's 


197 


heart to help one. It’s like Paradise, when you 
think of it. Only I’ve given my word that so many 
years of my life shall be set aside for the detecting 
of crime, to make up for those years when I was 
committing it, and the allotted span isn’t up yet. 
And then, of course, there’s you.” 

Mr. Narkom’s eyes misted over suddenly. He 
whipped out his handkerchief and blew a trumpeting 
blast upon his nose, as one who would say, “There’s 
no sickly sentiment about me; I’ve got a rotten 
cold, I have.” But Cleek understood. 

“Yes,” said Mr. Narkom. “Of course, as you say, 
there’s me. The day you give up the Yard’s busi¬ 
ness, I’ll go bust with you. If I hadn’t you, dear 
chap, to keep the heart up in me, I’d go to blazes, 
absolutely. Oh, what footling nonsense we’re talking, 
man! We’ve years of work together yet, if the 
Lord spares us, and we’ll get to the bottom of more 
riddles than the Amber Ship. To which, by the 
way, we haven’t found the answer yet. Now, look 
here; this is what I think about it.” 

So saying, the good superintendent broke into a 
long preamble of his own views upon the question, 
to which Cleek listened in silence, and at the end of 
it nodded, rose with a sigh, and picked up his hat. 

“Give me these twenty-four hours clear, and I’ll 
do the best I can for you,” he announced briefly. 
“Let me disappear from your ken—cease, for the 
present, from being the acknowledged representative 


198 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

of the Yard—and I’ll report to you to-morrow after¬ 
noon at half-past two o’clock, at the House on the 
Hill. And if I’m successful-” 

“You must be successful! You simply must! 
The Yard’s reputation depends upon it,” returned 
Mr. Narkom with anguish in his voice. “ Of course 
I’ll give you all the time you need; postpone the 
inquest, if you wish, and alter all my previous ar¬ 
rangements. You’ve got carte blanche , as usual. 
You know that. Only solve the problem, Cleek, 
get the answer to the riddle.” 

“All right, old friend; I’ll do the best I can. And 
you needn’t start altering any arrangements unless 
I send you word to do so at the eleventh hour. I’ve 
a theory to follow up, which may, or may not, be 
right. That remains to be seen. Au revoir .” 

Cleek took his leave and sauntered out into the 
sunshine, his mind bent upon the problem before 
him. He met Dollops at the corner of the street, 
and, forgetting the boy’s disguise for the moment, 
almost passed him unnoticed. But a “ Hey, matey!” 
sounded in his ears as he walked by, and he turned 
in his tracks and fell into step beside him. 

“Hello!” he said, with a nod of recognition; and 
then, in a lower tone, “Followed out all instruc¬ 
tions?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“You’ve got the motor-bike ready?” 

“I have, sir. Right round the corner ’ere.” 


A Visit to the Doctor's 


199 


“Good. Then give me fifteen minutes to get to 
the surgery, and when you see me appear at the 
window—you said there was a window which looked 
out upon the street, didn’t you?—and blow my nose, 
let her go!” 

“All right, sir.” 

Dollops made off, and Cleek sauntered in the 
direction of the doctor’s surgery—to pay a profes¬ 
sional visit. 

He found Doctor Hunter at work in the tiny place, 
surrounded with numerous bottles set tier upon tier 
above him, and wearing a white linen coat which 
was crisp and fresh and made him look the handsome 
creature he undoubtedly was. Cleek entered the 
surgery after knocking, and stood with his cap in 
his hands, fumbling from one foot to the other. 
The doctor looked up at him with a smile, his fingers 
busy with pestle and mortar with which he was 
mixing some prescription. 

“Hello!” said the doctor cheerily, “and what’s the 
trouble with you, may I ask? Feeling seedy?” 

George Headland nodded sheepishly. 

“Yes, Doctor, deuced seedy. Come suddenly 
faint-like. Maybe ’tis the air ’ere. I’m a new¬ 
comer, on a walkin’ tour, for a bit of a hollerday, 
and taken a room up at the Golden Arm for the 
night. Off again to-morrer. If you could give 
me a mixture, just a bottle of physic, I’d be grate¬ 
ful.” 


200 


The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

“ Certainly, certainly. Only too pleased.” The good 
doctor came forward and examined his patient with 
keen scrutiny. “Let’s see your tongue. . . . 

H’m. Bilious. That’s the dickens of this place— 
the air’s too heavy. I’ve found it myself. Makes 
you frightfully liverish. I’ll give you a dose.” 

There was a friendliness about this spruce little 
man in white linen that warmed one’s heart. Cleek 
could not help but smile back at him, thinking to 
himself how much such a man would be an asset 
to the village. He had the right touch, that pro¬ 
fessional interest in humanity at sight which is the 
true doctor’s birthright. 

“Yes, I expect that’s what’s the matter with 
me,” he volunteered, as the doctor began scribbling 
something down upon a little pad on his table. 
“Just bilious. I’m a terrible bilious subject!” 
Then he walked to the window, looked out of it a 
moment, and blew his nose noisily. 

Followed a sudden loud report, like a miniature 
explosion, and the doctor, looking up, heard the cry 
which followed the sound, and—all his professional 
faculties alert—gave a hurried, “Excuse me, I’ll go 
and see if anything’s wrong. There’s a crowd col¬ 
lecting,” and went out of the room. 

That was Cleek’s cue for business. In an instant 
he was all activity, peering at the shelves of bottles, 
even mounting the tiny set of library steps, which 
were obviously kept for the purpose of reaching 


A Visit to the Doctor's 201 

those that were set too high above the medico for 
comfortable stretching of the arm. 

The three upper shelves, with their faded labels, 
were lightly covered with dust. H’m. Got a bad 
servant in the place, obviously. Then he noticed 
that one of them looked a little cleaner than the 
rest, and read its label. It contained cyanide of 
potassium. Odd how that particular poison seemed 
to follow him in this case, wherever he looked. 
And it had lately been moved from its ring of dust. 
H’m. Bo someone had used it out of the doctor’s 
surgery: that was plain. But who? 

Just then the telephone rang, and he hastened to 
answer it, assuming the good doctor’s tone so that his 
own mother could not have told that it was not 
really he. 

“Hello!” he called. A woman’s voice answered 
him. It was frightened, shrill with an unseen, 
unknown fear. 

“Doctor, Doctor!” cried the voice, and he recog¬ 
nized it as belonging to Miss Ellison. “It’s gone! 
Gone! Oh, what shall I do? Whatever shall I do?” 

Cleek took a sporting chance. “Gone? You mean 
the cyanide?” he queried, still in the doctor’s 
voice. The answer came swiftly, stilling his own 
fears of discovery. 

“Yes, yes! He must have taken it with him! 
What does it mean? What can it mean? Oh, Doc¬ 
tor Hunter, I am terrified. Tell me what to do!” 


202 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

“Do nothing. Only wait,” returned Cleek, and 
then, hearing a stilling of the commotion without, 
rang off, just as the doctor himself came bursting 
through the doorway, his face wreathed in grins from 
ear to ear. 

“Funniest thing!” said he, wiping his hands with a 
cloth to free them from what looked like motor oil. 
“I thought someone was really hurt. But some 
young idiot had been playing with his motorcycle, 
and then lit a cigarette and dropped the live match 
on to the engine. And, of course, pouf! up it went in a 
fine explosion. Our young friend sustained a slight 
shock, but nothing more. If these boys won’t learn 
caution this side of the world, they’ll learn it the 
other, to their own cost! Now, let me see. I’m 
going to make you up a mixture, am I not? Bilious, 
I said, didn’t I? H’m, yes. If you wait one mo¬ 
ment, I’ll give it to you at once.” 

Cleek waited quietly, seemingly a dull lump of 
humanity, from his outward appearance. But his 
mind was on fire with interest. Who was the mys¬ 
terious “he”? And if the cyanide had gone, where 
had it gone to? Then it came to him like a flash. 
The “he” was Frank Brentwood, and the cyanide 
the little packet which he had found in the drawer 
in Brentwood’s room. But if Maud Ellison had got 
it for him, had it been she who had used it on the 
dead woman? And how did the doctor come to give 
it to her in the first place? 


CHAPTER XXIV 


ENTER LADY BRENTWOOD 

F OR a few minutes more the little doctor fussed 
among his bottles, mixing the draught which 
was to cure Mr. George Headland’s attack 
of biliousness effectually. While he worked he 
talked, looking up now and again with a smile to 
punctuate his sentences. Pity Frank Brentwood 
had entered the lists at all for Maud Ellison’s favour. 
This doctor chap would doubtless make a far better, 
far steadier husband for such a girl. But such is the 
way of life. 

As the doctor talked, Cleek sat watching the quick, 
clever fingers of the man, so sure of their task, so 
accurate in measurement. At last the mixture was 
made up. The doctor inscribed something upon 
the bottle, and then, pausing a moment, looked up. 
“What name shall I say?” he queried, pen in air. 
“George Headland.” 

“Ah. Thanks very much. Here you are, my 
friend. And I hope it will do you a lot of good. 
My fee? Five shillings, please. Many thanks.” 

He took the coins tendered to him, and then walked 
with his patient toward the door of the surgery, 

203 


204 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

and threw it open. A shaft of sunshine fell athwart 
the floor, turning it into a golden trail. Two ladies 
passing by, and seeing him, nodded and smiled. 
And then one came forward with outstretched hand 
to greet him. 

“ Good morning, Doctor Hunter. Isn’t it a glorious 

day?” 

“Perfect, indeed. Lady Brentwood. Squire feel¬ 
ing better this morning, I hope? I shall be up at the 
Manor by twelve, if work permits.” 

Lady Brentwood, whom Cleek recognized instantly 
from the portrait he had seen hanging in her son’s 
bedroom at the Manor, was a tall, elegant-looking 
woman, with graying hair and the eyes of a person 
who suffers from insomnia. He noted, too, that her 
hand shook a little as she extended it, and felt a 
momentary stab of pity. Her companion was a 
little, slight woman, in the unrelieved black of the 
widow save for the sheer white lawn collar that girt 
her pretty throat and the folded cuffs of the same 
material about her wrists. Cleek, hanging back, 
as though for a last word with the doctor, shook his 
head as that gentleman lifted his brows at him, 
and muttered, “I’ll wait. Don’t bother about me. 
Plenty of time,” and moved a little away from the 
group, where he could hear everything they said 
and not appear too plainly to be listening. 

“Yes, my husband certainly seems better this 
morning, thank you,” replied Lady Brentwood. 


205 


Enter Lady Brentwood 

“Nurse Ellison is a marvel, Doctor! She is, indeed 
—in spite of all the unconscious trouble the poor 
girl has caused us, Frank being so stupid as to fall 
in love with her like that. Of course it isn’t her 
fault, and Sir George simply dotes upon her. Doesn’t 
like her out of his sight, which is rather hard on the 
poor girl, as you may imagine. But we are both 
eternally grateful for your recommendation of her. 
Doctor Hunter. We truly are.” 

The doctor smiled, showing those perfect teeth of 
his, and Cleek was conscious of a prick of envy even 
as he looked. Handsome little chap, that! 

“Well,” replied the handsome little chap, “it is 
certainly rather a feather in my cap, I must say. 
The minute I clapped eyes upon Miss Ellison, I 
knew she was just the girl for the post. She was 
working up at the hospital when I first met her, a 
year or two back. And I must say I was very taken 
with her manner in dealing with sick people. And 
how’s the daughter, Gurda?” He turned toward the 
little widow, his voice dropping into a note of 
affectionate friendliness which made Cleek prick up 
his ears. 

“Oh, troublesome again, I’m afraid, Jack,” re¬ 
plied the little lady, with a sad shake of her head. 
“She keeps wanting to get up, you know, and of 
course that would be fatal. If it weren’t for old 
Mollie, I don’t know what I should do!” 

“Isn’t she wonderful?” struck in Lady Brent- 


206 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

wood, patting the little widow’s arm affectionately. 
“When you realize the cross she has to bear, with 
that invalid daughter of hers! And I know a little 
what brain trouble is like, with my husband’s odd 
ways at times. But to have one’s very own child 
lacking in mentality, and—and ” 

“And inclined to be violent, too, as she often is, 
isn’t she, Gurda?” struck in Doctor Hunter, a seri¬ 
ous note creeping into his voice. “Yes, I’m proud 
of my sister. Lady Brentwood, very proud. She 
always comes up smiling, whatever happens.” 

“Gurda Verity’s a brick, and that’s all one can say 
about it,” returned her ladyship decidedly. “Now 
come along, my dear, because it’s nearly dinner 
time, and I’ve some more shopping to do. Good-bye, 
Doctor Hunter. We shall see you later in the day, 
I expect.” 

The doctor saluted them, and the two ladies passed 
on down the street as Cleek quietly approached in 
answer to Doctor Hunter’s beckoning finger. 

“Sorry to have kept you waiting,” said that gentle¬ 
man genially, “but that is an old patient of mine 
with my sister. What was it you wanted to ask?” 

“Oh, just how often I’m to take this medicine. 
Doctor, and whether it’s before or after meals,” 
replied Cleek. 

The doctor gave him a little look, as if doubting his 
mental qualities. “You’ll find full instructions upon 
the bottle, as is usual,” he replied, with slight asperity 


207 


Enter Lady Brentwood 

and then, at Cleek’s mumbled apology, nodded in a 
friendly fashion, and, entering the surgery once 
more, shut the door sharply behind him. 

Quietly Cleek made his way back down the 
village street, his mind upon the conversation to 
which he had listened a moment or two ago. So the 
little widow lady with the pretty face was the doc¬ 
tor’s sister, was she? And she must be the Mrs. 
Verity whom the inspector had mentioned to him, 
who lived in the End House with her invalid daugh¬ 
ter. Mental case, eh? That was bad. And won¬ 
derful how the little woman kept that bright, 
pleasant face of hers, even as Lady Brentwood had 
said. And Lady Brentwood? Of a sudden, as he 
remembered the bared wrist as she had extended her 
hand to the doctor and the wide, fashionable sleeve 
of her blue frock had fallen back, Cleek’s mouth 
went grim. His keen eyes had noted the tiny needle¬ 
like marks upon that white forearm, and drew his 
own conclusions therefrom. 

He walked back to the inn, summoned Dollops, 
who, though a little bit shaken over his adventure 
with the motorcycle and the miniature explosion 
that had blown it to fragments, was grinning never¬ 
theless at the joke of the thing, and took him up to 
his bedroom, bolting the door against possible in¬ 
truders. 

“Look here, boy,” said Cleek in a whisper, when 
they were both seated, “I’ve found several pinholes 


208 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

in the black curtain to see daylight through. And 
Mr. Narkom has given me twenty-four hours to 
solve the riddle. So we’re going to London, as fast 
as possible.” 

“Crickey, Guv’nor! Twenty-four hours! Lor’ 
lumme! that ain’t much time, is it?” 

“Long enough, I hope. And if not, I can postpone 
the inquest. But I don’t want to do that, for many 
reasons. So nip round to the garage, and get a word 
with Lennard, and arrange for the car to be in readi¬ 
ness in twenty minutes to whisk us off to London. 
Better meet us out a mile from here, where the four 
crossroads meet. That’s a lonely sort of a spot, and 
we can foot it to there and hop in so that no one can 
get a line on what we are doing. Got it?” 

“Yes, sir. All right, sir. But I’ll ’ave to put 
Betsy off for this evening. I promised to take ’er to 
the pictures, if you give me permission, sir. Though 
I didn’t tell ’er that. But I’ll just nip dahnstairs 
and blow a tale wot me muvver ’as sent fer me, and 
me farver’s dyin’ of consumption. That’ll fetch 
’er soft ’eart, I’ll swear!” 

Cleek laughed heartily. “All right, and may the 
lake of fire and brimstone spare you from its 
abominable depths for doing your duty,” he re¬ 
turned, with a clap on the lad’s shoulder. “Now 
trot off and make your peace with Betsy, and then 
nip round after Lennard. I’ll meet you at the cross¬ 
roads at half-past seven. Perhaps your tender- 


209 


Enter Lady Brentwood 

hearted lady-love would put you up a few sandwiches 
for the journey, and, knowing your appetite, as she 
doubtless does already, will probably supply sufficient 
for two. We can eat them on the journey up.” 

‘‘I’ll see what I kin do, sir,” promised Dollops, as 
he disappeared kitchen ward. 

At exactly eight o’clock they were seated inside 
the old blue limousine, partaking of chicken sand¬ 
wiches and lettuce, washed down with a bottle of 
freshly made lemonade, and with hard-boiled eggs to 
follow. And on their speedy way Londonward 
toward the Edgware Road and that part of the 
riddle which lay in the lifeless body of second Mr. 
Spender. For Dollops had done his duty nobly, 
and Betsy was his for the asking! 


CHAPTER XXV 


THE SECRET OF THE BOOKSHOP 

HAT night Cleek spent in the second-hand 



bookshop in the Edgware Road, where one 


Octavius Spender had pursued the business 
of selling books and old periodicals to the fusty, 
musty, and decidedly dusty neighbours who sur¬ 
rounded him upon every side. For the memory of 
those twenty-four hours was always with him, and 
he did not wish to postpone the inquest unless it was 
absolutely necessary to do so. But the night hours 
are not always the best for working, and he had al¬ 
ways to contend with the probability that he would 
be discovered at his task by the light of the lamp 
he employed to assist him. 

The police knew, for they had been put wise the 
moment he arrived in London, but he did not want 
the whole neighbourhood watching on at his noc¬ 
turnal adventures. It might be awkward, to say 
the least of it. So he and Dollops tiptoed their 
way through the dirty little shop, opening doors 
and cupboards, and examining every inch of the 
place, from top to bottom, for possible clues to the 


210 


The Secret of the Bookshop 211 

solving of this portion of the riddle that had been 
set for them. 

It was a queer little shop, Cleek found, tucked 
in at the corner of a dirty street, with cracked 
windows and worm-eaten woodwork. And yet it 
showed signs of dusting, a veritable spring-cleaning, 
in the condition of certain of the shelves which 
lined the left-hand side of it. They were crammed 
with old books, which, though many bore no covers, 
had recently been well dusted and set neatly in their 
places. 

Someone had been cleaning up the shop, and had 
obviously been disturbed at the task, for the other 
half of it was dust-laden to an appalling degree. 
Although certain books upon its shelves looked fairly 
clean and in good condition, others, it was perfectly 
obvious upon their removal, had not been touched or 
dusted for years. Odd, that. Deuced odd. For 
the choice of the cleaner books was miscellaneous, 
and showed not the faintest light upon the choosing 
of any one particular mentality. 

Cleek put his hand up and reached down an old, 
red-backed volume which appeared cleaner and less 
dusty than its fellows, and read the title upon it: 
“Old Recipes for the Cooking of Puddings, Pies 
and Pastries, and the Like.” By Gustavus Block. 
And the year of publication, 1809. He turned it 
over idly in his hands, reading the title aloud. His 
thumb wandered over the ragged edge of the leaves, 


212 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

and was just about to open them when Dollops called 
softly from the other corner of the shop. He set 
the book down upon a table, and went in search of 
him. 

“What abaht the ole gent ’imself, sir?” said 
Dollops, who was standing with his hands upon the 
knob of a closed door. “I ’appened ter peep in and 
find this is ’is bedroom, and—and—I don’t much 
fancy this ghost business at this hour of the night, sir! 
The ole gent’s body is in there, where the chaps from 
the Yard ’as put ’im all ready fer you ter examine, 
and—wiv this sort er sinkin’ in the pit of me stum- 
mick (which I don’t know whether I’m ’ungry or 
simply blank scared) I doesn’t feel as though I could 
wait any longer ter get that part of the ugly business 
over. Couldn’t we look at ’im first, sir, and then 
lock up the room and get on wiv the other part of the 
business?” 

Cleek smiled. “Dollops, Dollops! You’re as funky 
as a schoolboy,” he said although, to be sure, the 
task of examining a dead body at half-past one in 
the morning, with only the light of a pocket torch 
and a very poor gas-jet, does rather savour of the 
ghost-like. “Don’t forget there’s a policeman on 
duty just outside, ready to come when we need 
him, and the whole big structure of the Yard at our 
backs. There’s nothing to be afraid of, lad, really 1 
But if you’d rather get that part of the business 
over-” 



213 


The Secret of the Bookshop 

“I’d certainly rather, sir,” returned Dollops, in a 
scared whisper. “Not so farst, Mr. Cleek, sir. 
Just wait ’arf a minute while I ’itches up me belt a 
reef tighter, so that me bloomin’ stummick, if it 
does turn ter water, won’t run away so easy under 
me, and I’m cornin’ wiv yer. Orl right, sir, fire 
away!” 

Bracing himself for the eerie business. Dollops drew 
a deep breath and followed Cleek into the still, 
shabby little room, where the figure of that Spender 
who had had charge of this little bookshop lay in 
the silence of death, with the mark of the hand of 
his assassin struck deep into his breast. They had 
placed the body upon its bed, and Cleek went over 
to it and ran his fingers lightly over it; meanwhile 
Dollops, a candle held high above his head, stood 
behind him, jaw dropped, face white, and the trem¬ 
bling fingers which held the light making it rock so 
that it threw weird and crazy shadows upon the drab 
wall opposite. 

Cleek took the candle out of the boy’s hand, and, 
bending, peered down into the ghastly white face. 
Then he sucked in his lips and breathed hard. 

“Gad,” he said softly, “the very same! That’s 
the old chap I saw at the station. I’ll swear to it, 
talking to the Chinese just outside of the waiting- 
room door. That’s he, dead sure!” 

“Yes, dead, orl right. Guv’nor—and sure, too,” 
broke in Dollops. “Gawd’s truf! If I ’ad them 


214 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

false teef in me ’ead wot ’arf the world ’as ter put up 
wiv, I’d start eatin’ of meself like a blinkin’ cannibal. 
Carn’t stop me jaw from wagglin’, nohow. ’Urry 
up, Guv’nor, for Heaving’s sake, and get it over!” 

Cleek gave a quick look at him over his shoulder, 
and shook his head. 

“Brace yourself up, lad. The job has got to be 
done, and I’m not liking it any more than you are. 
But the Yard’s business is our business, and the 
riddle must be solved, however unpleasant the solv¬ 
ing.” He set the candle down upon a chair, took 
out his torch and shot a patch of light upon the still 
figure, sending it fleeting up and down from head to 
foot. 

“Stabbed, eh? And the identical sort of wound 
that killed that poor old woman back there in the 
House on the Hill. What secret bond lay between 
them? So alike, so exactly alike! And the name— 
Spender. A Malay kris, or I’ll eat my hat! Same 
wound, same everything! Only one’s a man, and 
one’s a woman. If I could only find some clues to 
their identity. And someone who knew them! 
But there’s nothing, nothing! 

“. . . . Chest of drawers over there, Dollops; 

search through them, and bring any letter or paper 
or photograph you find to me.” And so he went 
on, speaking his thoughts aloud, as he spoke them 
only in the presence of this young Cockney boy who 
knew him, indeed, better than any one else in the 


215 


The Secret of the Bookshop 

world, all the time his busy fingers tracing their way 
over the body, searching pockets, and unbuttoning 
buttons; and all the time talking, talking in that low, 
monotonous way of his. 

“H’m. What are those marks on the forearm? 
Needle-points again! How those two things pursue 
me in this case! Cyanide and needle-points. Poison 
and drugs. And both of ’em pretty well as bad as 
each other. First Nurse Ellison, then Lady Brent¬ 
wood, and now this poor old shopkeeper in the Edg- 
ware Road! Odd how the fiendish thing holds the 
world over. Lady Brentwood, now, why should she? 
Unless it were to kill pain. And yet, not that. 
H’m. Might be—probably is. I never thought of 
that before. And this old chap. That task’s 
finished, thank Heaven! I’ll need to take a record of 
the fingerprints on the back of this chair, and here 

at this table’s edge. And after that- Hello! 

here’s an empty envelope, with a greasy thumbmark 
upon it! I’ll send that up, too. Any luck, Dollops?” 

Dollops looked up quickly as his master’s voice 
raised itself from the mumbling monotone which he 
knew was not meant for him to answer, and brought 
forward his discoveries. 

“Nothing much, sir. Jist an ole comb, and a 
brush, and a bottle of ’air-oil, and two envelopes ad¬ 
dressed to ’im, ’ere. Nuffink else.” 

“Let’s see ’em. . . . No, not a bit of good. 

Try the second drawer.” 


216 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

The second drawer proved more useful. Dollops, 
rooting his fingers through the medley of clothing 
that it contained, pulled forth a book, and handed 
it across to Cleek without a word. 

Cleek’s fingers closed over it instantly, and he sent 
his spotlight flashing out upon the cover, upon which 
was written in a shaky, educated hand, and in ink 
that was faded and brown with age, the words, 
“Journal and Diary of Octavius L. Spender.” 
And dated some ten years back. 

“A find, Dollops!” ejaculated Cleek, as he untied 
the piece of soiled ribbon that was tied round it 
and opened its musty leaves. “Gad! The first 
entry is dated January 20, 1912, and the last the 
day before yesterday—the day the poor old chap met 
his death! This ought to tell us something, surely!” 

It certainly looked as though it would. For the 
book was obviously the diary of Octavius Spender, 
perhaps the very self-same Octavius Spender who 
seemed to live this double life both here in the Edg- 
ware Road and out at Upminster, at the House on the 
Hill. 

For ten minutes Cleek neither moved nor made 
any sound, simply stood there, reading, and Dollops, 
looking up now and again at his master’s face with 
those adoring eyes of his, saw how the concentration 
stamped it, obliterating all else, and knew that Cleek 
had found something to go upon—at last. The 
writing was small and crabbed, and yet with the 


217 


The Secret of the Bookshop 

fineness of copper-plate, and each entry was meticu¬ 
lously dated, and bore no cross-outs upon the 
serenity of the neat pages. 

At length Cleek looked up, twitching his head in 
Dollops’s direction. His voice was sharp with in¬ 
terest, his eyes alight. 

“Here, fetch me that cookery book which I left 
lying on the table in the outer room,” he rapped out 
in excitement. “A dollar to a ducat that I’ve solved 
one portion of the riddle at any rate, and am in a 
fair way to solving the rest of it, along with one other 
little problem of Mr. Narkom’s that, by sheer, un¬ 
adulterated luck, has fallen into my hands. Gad! 
to think of it! Just to think of it!” 

Dollops was gone from that room of death like a 
shot, very thankful to be out of it for even that 
brief moment. He returned a moment later with 
the big red book in his hands, and handed it across 
to Cleek, whose rapid fingers ran through the pages 
like lightning, and who lifted it to his nose now and 
again and sniffed at it. 

“Mr. Cleek, sir!” cried Dollops, stung out of his 
fear for the time being by his amazement at this 
extraordinary performance. “What are yer smellin’ 
of it for, sir? That ain’t goin’ ter help, surely?” 

Cleek smoothed a blank page, slipped inside be¬ 
tween the printed ones, and then, lifting it out, held it 
toward the boy, with the curious one-sided smile 
travelling up his cheek. 


218 The Riddle of the Amber Skip 

“Look at it, Dollops. See anything queer about 
that paper?” 

The boy took it, stared at it, and handed it back, 
shaking his head. “No, sir. Nuffink.” 

“Well, if you were as old as I am in the world’s 
wickedness, you’d see a good deal. W’hy? Be¬ 
cause, boy, that paper is impregnated with the 
essence of the very devil himself, and we’ve struck 
something absolutely new in an age-old sin. It’s 
cocaine, Dollops. And this is no more a second¬ 
hand bookshop than I am a bootmaker. Here, 
bring me a pile of those newly dusted books on the 
shelves quickly!” 

Dollops staggered back with an odd dozen of them 
and set them down upon the table, mystification in 
every line of his countenance; watching, entranced, 
while Cleek ran his fingers lightly through them. 
Scattered through the pages of printed matter were 
blank sheets of supposedly white paper—endless 
numbers of them, which Cleek sniffed and tapped 
and set back again in turn. As he finished the last 
book, he nodded triumphantly, and, dusting his 
hands together, clapped Dollops upon the shoulder 
with a little laugh of pure delight. 

“I said,” he began, “that this wasn’t a second¬ 
hand bookshop at all, didn’t I, Dollops? Well, 
neither is it. You told me that the two Chinese 
left this shop the night before last with books under 
their arms, and left it smiling. Quite right* Only I 


The Secret of the Bookshop 219 

hadn’t realized the significance of that statement 
before. I know its importance now. This is no* 
bookshop, Dollops, this hell-nest here! It’s just a 
dope store under a different guise; and our friend 
Mr. Spender, who lies there dead from the assassin’s 7 
knife, was a very clever and very diabolical trafficker 
in drugs l” 


CHAPTER XXVI 


ON THE TRAIL OF THE BALANKHA-DAHS 


AWDAMUSSY!” Dollops’s jaw dropped 



under this amazing statement, and he fell 


^ back a little, hands flung up in horror. 
This astonishing master of his literally left him gasp¬ 
ing. To have found that out from a mere looking 
at, and smelling of, a book was more than his men¬ 
tality could stagger under. Cleek smiled at him, 
although his face was grim. 

“Run out and fetch the policeman on point duty,” 
he said rapidly, “and when he and I have had a little 
parley together, you can nip along to the general 
post office and send a wire in code to headquarters. 
This wasps’ nest must be watched for further 
developments. It shouldn’t be left an instant. A 
tin of kerosene and a box of matches would do more 
good than mere man could realize! And I’d stop 
and attend to the business myself, and take a 
chance at it, if I hadn’t this matter of the Amber 
Ship to clear up first of all. Rut a constable must be 
here on duty in this place, day and night, and ready 
to arrest any Chinks or Englishmen who come near 
it on chance of stealing. I’ve got to have time 


220 


On the Trail of the Balankha-Dahs 221 

to examine this diary and read it through thoroughly. 
Either the old chap was a double-dyed scamp, 
or he was a tool. I can’t tell yet. Now fetch 
the constable, like a good chap, and be quick about 
it.” 

Dollops was back in no time, the constable, a 
burly person, following him. Cleek gave him a quick 
nod of recognition and got to the business of the 
moment at once. 

“My name’s Cleek, Constable,” he said. “I want 
an expert here to photograph these fingerprints 
immediately. And I want this place watched day 
and night, with a constable right here in the shop on 
continual duty. A couple, perhaps, would be better. 
But that can be arranged later. Can you fetch a 
mate back here while my lad and I stay, and make 
all arrangements as quickly as possible?” 

“Mr. Cleek, is it, sir? I should just think I 
could, sir!” The constable’s voice was filled with 
admiring awe. “If you’ll just stay here a jiffy, 
sir, I’ll get on to the phone for headquarters at 
once.” 

The constable made good time, for within the 
short span of half an hour he and his mate had re¬ 
turned with word that the expert would arrive 
there at the earliest possible moment. But the 
hands of Cleek’s watch pointed to half-past three 
before the work in that little shop was done, and the 
expert had gone off with his films and his camera, 


222 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

and the promise that the prints should be ready for 
examination by nine in the morning. 

“Good business, Mr. Metters!” said Cleek ap¬ 
provingly, as he shook hands with him and left him 
outside the shop. “If all the Yard’s business were 
in such capable hands, we should know a little 
better where we stood with the criminal classes, and 
England would be quicker purged of the asps that 
lie in her peaceful bosom. I’ll be round at the 
Yard and into your office at nine sharp.” 

“And the prints will be ready for you, Mr. Cleek. 
Good-bye, and good luck to you.” 

“Many thanks. Now, Dollops, we must be off. 
A new disguise, lad, and a thrilling hour or two before 
the peaceful morning breaks. That’s the pro¬ 
gramme for you and me. We’d best nip round to 
the flat and do our changing there, and then off and 
away to that section of the underworld which finds 
the hours of darkness more useful than the hours of 
day. We’re off to trail the Balankha-Dahs, Dollops, 
and for a possible four hours will carry our lives in 
our hands. Some sport, eh?” 

“Yes, sir. Quite so, sir. Just as you say, sir.” 
Dollops licked his lips with the point of a suddenly 
dry tongue. Then, at sight of Cleek’s face, his eyes 
lit. “Gawd bless yer, Guv’nor, for a first-clarss 
proper gen’leman,” he ejaculated. “If you’re orf 
adventurin’, I’m your man! Lead on, Plum Duff. 
And I shouldn’t be a bit surprised if we don’t ’appen 


On the Trail of the Balankha-Dahs 223 

on some of them Apatches while w^e’re abaht it. 
Wot’s it ter be, Guv’nor? ’Ighwaymen or day- 
labourers? Wot’s the corstoom?” 

“Mechanics—anything dirty and looking like the 
dickens,” returned Cleek, with a boyish grin at the 
adventure that lay in front of him. “That’s the 
stuff. Dollops.” 

“Look, sir?” gasped Dollops. “Look out there. 
That’s a blinkin’ Chink a-snoopin’ of ’is ugly mug 
rahnd the corner of that building. Makin’ tracks 
fer the bookshop, I lay. Better ’ang up ’ere for a 
moment, sir, and watch.” 

Cleek whipped round instantly and looked in the 
direction of Dollops’s pointing finger. That part of 
London is not by any means well lighted, and the 
solitary lamp-post which stood some fifty yards ahead 
of them was not of much assistance for that which 
lay behind. But the moving figure, slinking like a 
shadow amongst other shadows, brought him in¬ 
stantly to attention, and he drew himself up against 
an adjacent wall as soundlessly as a cat. 

The figure slunk on. Bound the corner of that 
little street, padding on silent feet, hands tucked into 
dark sleeves, yellow face grinning evilly as it made its 
silent progress. Dollops was certainly right. And 
the man was making for the bookshop at the corner. 
That fact, too, was perfectly plain. Cleek would 
have liked to follow him and have a scrap, for his 
adventurous blood was up, and the whole spirit of 


224 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

the man alive and itching to be back once more ad¬ 
venturing with life. 

“Gad!” he whispered, with a sigh of envy. “I’d 
like to follow him. But time’s getting short. And 
Jackson and his mate will fall for him, all right. 
Better be getting back to the car now. Dollops. 
Lennard’s just round the curve here. And there’ll 
be plenty of sport to follow at the lay of the Ba- 
lankha-Dahs! That I can promise you.” 

But even Cleek, drilled as he was in adventure 
and in slipping out of tight places—even Cleek did 
not for one instant dream of how much sport there 
would be. Yet that night’s adventures were to live 
long in his memory, and to colour luridly every 
mental picture of the riddle that was to be called 
the Amber Ship for many moons to come. 


CHAPTER XXVII 


AN UNWELCOME DISCOVERY 

iTEHOUSE, to the uninitiated, presents a men¬ 



tal picture of one corner of London’s squalid 


—* slumdom peopled with Oriental and Oc¬ 
cidental indiscriminately mixed into one great, un¬ 
washed whole. And the uninitiated are not far 
wrong, either. For certain parts of Limehouse, 
when the sun has set and the rest of the decent- 
living world has gone snugly to bed between clean 
sheets, come to life. 

With the sluggish muddy river making its murky 
way past ugly wharf and uglier mud-flat, and its 
reek of tenements, peopled with the scum of a 
dozen or more nations who have drifted there and 
found it a useful spot to hide in, one does not wonder 
that the more ordinary citizen leaves it severely 
alone. For night prowlings in Limehouse are apt to 
lead to adventures of a more than questionable 
character, and the idle old Thames, losing here much 
of his dignity of age and elegance, merely adds to 
the possibilities of convenient hiding places between 
the flat, floating barges which lie moored upon its 
breast. 


225 


226 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

Cleek knew it pretty well, and as he and Dollops 
pursued their swift way through the mean streets 
and alleyways that make up its purlieus, the or¬ 
dinary passer-by would have classed them as just 
two fragments of the flotsam and jetsam which that 
sinkpot of London calls its own. Filthy corduroys 
clad Cleek, while an unspeakable cloth of uncertain 
age and colour took the place of a collar; Dollops’s 
outfit was only one degree less appalling. And with 
hands and faces streaked with oil and grime to give 
them the proper climatic tint of its denizens, there 
was nothing to distinguish them from the other 
wharf rats and loiterers who moved along its streets. 

Yet Cleek, passing a couple of policemen strolling 
together upon their beat—for one man alone is not 
security enough in some parts for the law’s fulfilling 
touched the sleeve of the outer one, stopped a 
moment, and whispered some magic word into the 
surprised countenance turned toward him. After a 
hurried exchange of courtesies, he continued on his 
way, knowing that, if need be, there would be the 
useful blue-coat on hand when required. 

“Which way?” breathed Dollops, as they came to a 
crossing, and paused a moment, loitering, hands in 
pockets, to survey the lay of the land. Cleek glanced 
hastily to right and left, then nodded his head at a 
narrow, stinking alley hidden in the murk of the 
darkness. “Lor! what a blinkin’ ’ell-spot!” 

A Chinaman shambled by them, padding silently 


An Unwelcome Discovery 227 

with little mincing steps, with a white woman shuffl¬ 
ing along beside him. She staggered a little as she 
walked. 

“Opium den just along on the left,” whispered 
Cleek shortly. “And beyond that, the second house 
up, our quarry. There’s a brick passage along here 
somewhere which leads out on to the wharf, and if 
we’re careful we ought to find a hiding place some¬ 
where out there from which we can catch a glimpse of 
things. Ah, here it is. Single-file here, boy, and 
follow close behind me. We’ll be there in a jiffy. 
’Ere, I s’y! Oh, beg pardin, mate! I didn’t see 
yer!” This to a skulking form that pushed past 
him unceremoniously, sending startled brown eyes 
up into his face. 

“All right. No offence. So long,” returned this 
person, and went on rapidly in the opposite direc¬ 
tion, while Dollops, waiting until he was safely out 
of earshot, leaned toward Cleek and touched him 
on the arm. 

“See ’im, sir? That’s a bloomin’ blacky, that 
is. Nice lot of mixed chocolates up ’ere, ain’t 
there?” 

“Hindoo,”said Cleek briefly. “We’ll probably fall 
foul of a good many more, though I’m not anxious to. 
This place we’re after is where they hang out. All 
the flotsam and jetsam from overseas—black and 
white and chocolate-tinted—meet here o’ nights to 
discuss their mad schemes. Fanatics, most of ’em, 


228 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

in the pay of their blessed priestcraft. Step lively. 
Dollops. We’ll be out of it in a minute and on to 
the wharf, where we’ll try and find a front-row seat, 
and have a squint at what they’re up to. That 
boy’s got to be found, or his body traced somewhere, 
and I’ve a theory this evening’s work will help.” 

Five more minutes in that dark, evil-smelling pas¬ 
sageway between the two houses led them at length 
upon the open wharf, where a dozen or so barges 
rose and fell upon the river’s gentle tide, washing 
against each other with grind of chain and bump of 
woodwork which made a sort of steady undertone 
to the peaceful serenity of the night. Not a soul 
was to be seen anywhere at this moment, but as Cleek 
looked round, hiding under the shadow of the arch¬ 
way that terminated the passage, his keen eye 
spotted a little, slim-liipped Lascar, sitting cross- 
legged upon a broken spar of wood some distance 
to the right of them. His red cap was pushed back 
upon his black hair, and a clay pipe hung between 
his lips. 

“That’s awkward!” Cleek’s whispered words 
barely reached Dollops’s listening ears. “Got to 
get rid of him somehow. He’s on the watch. Good 
old choloroform here, lad! You step softly to the 
right of him, and I’ll charge on the left. If we make 
a sound, or let him raise any outcry, there’ll be the 
dickens to pay. Now, then!” 

He stopped a moment and drew a piece of soiled 


An Unwelcome Discovery ££9 

rag and a corked bottle from his pocket. Dollops, 
tiptoeing upon rubber-soled feet, lifted glowing eyes 
to his master’s face. With Cleek in the offing, the 
possibility of a scrap appealed mightily. He began 
to grin. 

“Stinkin’ stuff, Guv’nor,” he whispered back, as 
Cleek drew the cork from the bottle and saturated 
the cloth with its contents. “Gawd! Don’t it 
strangle yer! Orl ready?” 

“Yes. Now!” 

Silently they swept up to the unknowing man and 
Seized him from behind, pinioning his arms tightly. 
Before he could so much as utter a sound, Cleek 
had clapped the chloroformed rag across his mouth, 
tied it securely behind, and the thing was done with 
barely a struggle. 

“Now, quick with him into that barge there. 
Dollops! And the path’s clear. That’s it. Tuck 
the beauty in safely, and leave him. It’ll be some 
time before he comes round again with that mouth¬ 
ful! Quick as you can! Now for the house!” 

They lifted the inanimate Lascar into the barge, 
covered him with a handy tarpaulin, and returned 
to the wharf again, both equally thrilled with the 
beginning of their adventure. 

“This is the life, sir,” remarked Dollops, wiping his 
mouth with the back of his hand and grinning up at 
Cleek as he stood still a moment looking for the 
likeliest spot to begin operations on. But that 


230 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

likely spot was difficult to find, for the tumble- 
down building in which he had told Dollops these 
men met for discussion of their plans had once 
obviously been a storehouse of some kind. The 
lower part of it was open for storage, a huge cavern 
as black as a pocket, and to the right of it a ladder 
stood, reaching to the bare tip of the sill of a window 
above. Through this glimmered the uncertain rays 
of what was probably an oil lamp, and they could 
see several figures silhouetted against it, as of men 
sitting together and talking earnestly. 

“Got to get a squint into that room, anyhow,” 
whispered Cleek, after a moment. “And nothing for 
it but to mount that ladder and hope for the best.” 

“But, sir, it ain’t safe, that ain’t!” Dollops’s whis¬ 
pered undertone was strained with anxiety. “You 
carnt do that, sir! It’s too blinkin’ risky! Puttin’ 
of yer precious ’ead inter the lions’ den like that! 
And all open-like, too.” 

Cleek smiled. “Nothing for it, lad, but to try. 
See here; you stand at the bottom of the ladder, 
and mount guard. If any one comes while I’m up 
there, whistle three times, and I’ll know there’s 
danger. And then run for your life. Don’t worry 
about me. I’ll be safe, as one blast on my whistle 
will fetch the police. Now I’m going up.” 

He made for the ladder, and felt its steadiness, but 
Dollops’s hand upon his sleeve restrained him for a 
moment. 


231 


An Unwelcome Discovery 

“Don’t do it, Mr. Cleek! Don’t do it, for mercy 
sake!” begged the boy. “’Tain’t sense, sir. Your 
’ead’s worf more’n a blinkin’ Chinee’s jools. Am¬ 
ber Ship or no Amber Ship, you let ’em be, sir. Or 
I’ll go up for yer. But not you, Mr. Cleek, not you! 
You’re that risky, you’ll meet yer death for certain 
sure.” 

“Can’t help that, Dollops,” smiled back Cleek, 
as he patted the boy’s shoulder. “Up that ladder 
I’m going. I wish it weren’t quite so public, I 
admit. But there’s nothing for it, and time’s pre¬ 
cious. Now hold her safe, please. I don’t want a 
sousing in old Father Thames to cool my ardour!” 

“Well, it’s the only thing’ll cool your ’ot ’ead, if 
you’ll pardon my sayin’ so, sir,” returned Dollops 
dejectedly. “Well, if you’re goin,’ you’re goin’, 
but be careful—do!” 

Miserably he took up his position at the foot of 
the ladder and watched while the being whom he 
loved more than life itself, and whom he would have 
followed to Hades if necessity demanded, mounted the 
crazy steps. He swung at last upon the upper ledge 
which lay an inch or so below the sill of the window. 

After a pause of a moment or two he pulled himself 
softly up to the level of the window itself, and peered 
in at the outer corner. The room, which was merely 
the upper floor of a barn-like structure that had 
never been intended for such usage, was full of men 
and tobacco smoke. Through the haze of it he saw 


232 


The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

many brown faces and the heterogeneous assort¬ 
ment of European and native garments which make 
up the western wear of the travellers from the other 
side of the world. 

But there was not a Chinese face amongst them. 
Mostly Hindoos, from what he could make out, with 
a sprinkling of the little, thick-set Cockney type of 
wharf-hand who follows in the van of every bit of 
trouble brewing in his own country. Amongst this 
collection Cleek discerned two or three dark-skinned 
men of an obviously higher caste, upon whose faces 
was the stamp of education and fanaticism. 

They spoke in lowered voices, and he could barely 
catch a sentence now and again, and always the 
murk of the tobacco smoke grew thicker and thicker, 
so that it became difficult to discern any face plainly 
through the fog of it. 

Then from the other side of the room a door opened 
and another man entered, followed shortly by a com¬ 
panion. At sight of these two Cleek drew in his 
breath sharply, and dropped a moment from his 
observation post. French, these—French Apaches, 
if he knew anything of the type. And he knew a 
great deal. These, then, were Margot’s gang, come 
to make terms, no doubt, or to tell the secret of 
the hiding place of that which they all coveted so 
tremendously. It behoved him to be careful here, 
for the Apaches’ eyes were keen and curious, and 
always on the look-out for possible eavesdroppers. 


An Unwelcome Discovery 233 

He heard the sound of voices raised in protest and 
caught the drift of the conversation. He set his 
mouth into a suddenly grim line, drawing his brows 
down. So that was it, was it? And these men of 
Margot’s- 

He dared not raise his head again until the noise 
subsided, but crouched there, hunched up beneath 
the sill, all ears, until a scraping of chairs upon the 
floor and the clatter of many feet shuffling on bare 
boards tempted him once more. Then a woman’s 
voice floated to him out there in the darkness of that 
still night, and he caught his breath abruptly and 
crept an inch or two upward until his eyes just 
reached to the edge of the sill. 

It was a risky thing to do, but he had to do it. 
For the woman’s voice, striking in so stridently across 
that hum of men’s voices, told him of the new arrival, 
and as he took one startled glance at her he saw that 
it was Margot. 

“Has she got the Amber Ship or hasn’t she?” he 
asked himself quickly, as he watched her standing 
there in all her cruel beauty, like some poppy flaming 
up suddenly upon the brown earth, and shrinking a 
little at sight of her and her womanhood surrounded 
by such a crowd of unspeakable beings. 

“You have it, you’ve got the stone?” they clam¬ 
oured at her, swarming round her slim figure like 
rats, and clawing at her dress and hands. “ Where?” 

She threw her arms out to drive them away. 


234 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

“No, no! Not yet. You mus’ give me time, a 
littF longer! Anozzer day or so. I ’ave ze idea of 
where eet ees, but eet is not safe yet to attempt to 
fetch it. I should be keeled, yes, and zen zere would 
be no Margot to do your bidding. Nom d’un chien! 
’Ow you clamour! I am no magic-woman, me. I 
am but ’uman. Give me time, time!” 

Some chattering native struck in at this juncture, 
gesticulating like a monkey with his brown hands. 
Another followed him; still another. Then one 
slim, brown-skinned man who seemed to be in com¬ 
mand held up his hand, and they were instantly 
silent. He spoke to them commandingly in their 
own tongue, and Cleek, who had a smattering of 
Hindustani, caught the gist of what he said, and 
knew a number of things. 

Then once more the door opened to admit still an¬ 
other member of the party. Cleek caught a name, 
“Gunga Dal,” and then, as this last person entered 
the room, was so far shaken out of his customary 
caution as to reach up still farther and let his whole 
face show against the window, in his interest for¬ 
getting for a moment all cautionary methods of facial 
expression. For the newcomer had brought revela' 
tion to him. 

“Good God!” he ejaculated under his breath. 
Then, recalling caution, he tried to duck down 
suddenly as someone strode over to the window. 
He was just one brief second too late. 


An Unwelcome Discovery 235 

There was a sudden cry; the clamour of many feet 
hurrying toward the window, and the shrill scream 
of Margot’s voice as she hurled her way through the 
little group, fighting to reach the window first. 

“Name of a devil! Cleek, Cleek! The Cracks¬ 
man—not dead!” she shrilled out crazily, waving 
her arms above her head in a very frenzy of fury. 
“I saw ’is face for a moment, just over the window¬ 
sill! Oh, ’urry, ’urry! We ’ave the devil at last. 
And I shall pay my debt to ’eem to the bitter end!” 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


PURSUIT 



iO SAY that Cleek hurried down that ladder 


in his effort to get away is to understate the 


A fact altogether. Before you could wink an 
eye he was down to the waiting and terrified Dollops 
and had caught hold of the ladder and taken it away 
just as a pair of brown hands reached out to grasp 
its top. 

“Margot, Dollops! Run like blazes!” he threw 
out. “Here, pitch the beastly thing into the water, 
and let ’em hunt for it later. And away with us as 
quickly as possible. If we should be caught-” 

“Well, our blinkin’ number would be up,” re¬ 
turned Dollops, breathlessly. “Now for it, sir! 
If they was to catch hold of you!” 

“They’re not going to,” returned Cleek, and began 
to run, doubling through twisted alleyways, while 
behind them came the mingled shouts and hoarse 
cries of those others whom Margot had set upon his 
heels. Dollops, panting, was close behind him, 
they were making good time, and yet the cries and 
shouts seemed to be growing steadily nearer and 
nearer. Through the bricked alley which had led 


Pursuit 


237 


them out upon the wharf they came, out at last into 
the tangle of mean streets with pounding steps be¬ 
hind them and a possibility of capture appallingly 
near. 

“Better give the signal for the police!” gasped out 
Cleek at length, as they went on racing together 
through the murky night, time and place forgotten 
in their mad rush for freedom. “Those devils are 
not far behind. Here! Give three blasts on this 
whistle. I’m done for breath. It’ll probably put 
the brown men off, though Margot, having scented 
her quarry, will take more than whistling away. 
Still, it’ll lessen chances. And cut up that side 
alley, boy. I’m trying some of the old Cracksman 
tricks, and going to do a lightning change before 
the devils arrive.” 

Dollops cut up the alley, after ringing out those 
three shrill whistles which meant “Danger. Come 
immediately,” to the waiting blue-coats. And Cleek, 
swingingoff to the left, stopped in a doorway, twitched 
off his coat and threw it over an adjacent wall, tore 
off his neck-cloth and re-tied it, put his cap on 
hind part before, and did something to his face which 
altered it completely. It became the physiognomy 
of another man. Then, emerging from the door¬ 
way, just as the pounding, racing, maddened pro¬ 
cession of humanity came swinging round in his di¬ 
rection, led by a wild-eyed harpy with streaming 
hair, whom he knew as Margot, began to whistle 


£38 


The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

and saunter toward them, with his hands in his 
trousers’ pockets, and his heart, thumping. 

The racing procession stopped for a moment, hesi¬ 
tated, and then, advancing upon him, one of the 
foremost caught him by the arm. 

“Seen any one running away by here, matey?” 

The whistling man ceased his whistle, took his 
hands out of his pockets, and spat with remarkable 
precision. 

“Yus. Slim chap wiv a red ’andkerchief rahnd 
’is bloomin’ neck, an’ runnin’ as though all ’ell was 
after ’un?” 

“That’s heem, that’s heem, the devil incarnate!” 
exclaimed Margot excitedly. “And whether alone 
or with that little red-haired follower of his I know 
not. But where did he go? Speak up, or I’ll wring 
your lazy throat for you! Where?” 

“Up that turnin’ there, to the left. And round the 
corner of that there wall. And alone, so far as I 
saw, anyway,” replied the casual person in a gruff 
voice. “And not so much of yer lip, missus, if you 
please! Bill Stiggins ain’t one ter tyke free speech 
from a lydy wivout giving of it back agin, and 
somethin’ else to go wiv it, too. No wonder yer 
’usban’s a bin and gorn an’ done a bolt. Don’t 
blame ’im neither.” 

Then, resuming his whistling, he continued idly to 
swing along the street, doing a little dancing step 
now and then, as one who is at peace with life and 


Pursuit 


239 


the world, until the last of those brown-skinned 
demons and pale-faced Apaches had gone past 
him, and the way was clear again. For a short time, 
at any rate. 

Then like a flash he swung round in his tracks and 
was off in the opposite direction in which he had told 
Dollops to go. The lad was hiding in a yard, and 
upon the sound of his master’s soft, low-pitched 
whistle, emerged from under a tarpaulin and gazed 
up at him in the darkness. But it was a strange 
face that he looked into, and a strange man who thus 
was taking his master’s place and calling the old hoot- 
owl’s signal. His face went suddenly pale; he sucked 
in his breath and darted back under the tarpaulin, 
and began moving about under it comically. 

“You ain’t a-catchin’ of me, you ain’t!” he called 
out shrilly from under the tarpaulin’s enshrouding 
folds. “And if yer does, it’ll tyke more’n your sort 
ter git me master’s ’idin’ plyce out er me! I’ve 
got small-pox, I ’ave, and I’m infecshus. If yer 
touches of me, yer’ll git it fer shure. Fer I’m a 
dangerous subject!” 

Then the sound of a little low chuckle came to him, 
and he stuck out a tousled head. “Guv’nor, Lor” 
blimey, if you ain’t a caution! Now, ’oo’d ’a’ 
thought it? Why, you’ve been and gorn and took of 
me in, strite you ’ave. Come on, sir. This ’ere 
spot’s too ’ot fer us. We’d better be nippin’ orf as 
farst as we kin, afore them blighters return.” 


240 


The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

“Exactly what I am thinking, Dollops. So come 
out of it, you bundle of loyalty, and we’ll make tracks 
for Lennard again. We’ve another mile to go, but 
if we’re careful, we should make it all right, and with 
the blue-coats in pursuit, they ought to account for 
several of that pretty little gang. Pray Providence 
Margot will be among ’em! If I could only follow 
’em and nail her myself. But time’s too short, 
worse luck.” 

“Best luck, you mean,” whispered back Dollops, 
emerging somewhat more filthy than ever and shaking 
himself down. “Fer there’s yer sweet’eart to think 
of now, sir; there’s Miss Ailsa, Gawd bless ’er sweet 
eyes! And she’d not be wishin’ for you ter git in¬ 
ter any unnecessary scrapes—that she wouldn’t.” 

“No, you’re right. Dollops. Now, no more 
talking. This thing’s more serious than we thought, 
and Margot has got wind that I am in London again, 
and it means the old, mad, bad times come back, 
and life in one’s hands once more. And I’m getting 
too old for that sort of existence now. So silence 
and action—that’s our motto!” 

Not another word passed between them thereafter. 
They simply concentrated upon the task in hand, 
and pursued it soundlessly. Down past the river 
they scurried like shadows stealing out at nightfall; 
on along the wharf’s edge until at length they came 
to the little dinghy in which they had crossed, and 
stepped into it. 


Pursuit 


241 


The plash of the water under their oars sounded 
like pistol shots to their strained ears, but they made 
no other sound during the voyage across the old 
Thames. But the task was none too easy, with 
barges and other floating craft for ever in their 
path. Once they bumped inadvertently into some 
low-lying barge which struck them slightly upon the 
bows, and were rewarded for their mistake by the 
sudden volley of oaths flung at them by the thoroughly 
roused and awakened owner of it. 

Cleek swung the little craft away quickly into a 
patch of unoccupied water, with a muttered, “Sorry, 
matey! Got an appointment and must ’urry. No 
offence,” and went on with his task. And at length 
the shore was reached. He shipped the oars, sprang 
out upon the wharfside, and drew the little cockle¬ 
shell of a craft back once more into its place, fasten¬ 
ing it securely with the length of rope with which it 
had originally been fastened. Then with a sudden 
whimsicality indicative of the man even in such mo¬ 
ments of stress as this, he paused a second, whipped 
out his wallet, drew out a pound note and an old 
envelope from which the address had been meticu- 
ously removed, slipped the note inside, and then 
with his fountain pen scrawled the words, “Many 
thanks for use of your boat. It is herewith returned 
unharmed” and pinned the envelope to the tarpau¬ 
lin which covered it. 

Dollops watched with interested, if amazed, eyes 


242 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

while this was being done, then joined Cleek in the 
swift run to the inner street where Lennard waited 
patiently with the limousine. 

“All ready!” rapped out Cleek to the sleepy 
chauffeur, and hopped inside the motor. Then they 
were off and away through the quiet streets toward 
the West End of London, even as the dawn was 
creeping over the sleeping city. And so to the 
closing in of the net which had shrouded that part 
of the mystery which was called the Amber Ship. 


CHAPTER XXIX 


NEWS AT THE MANOR 

I T WAS a brilliant, sunshiny morning. Dorothy, 
the little kitchen-maid at the Manor, was stand¬ 
ing at the back door, whistling a tune to herself, 
when she saw the figure of the old pedler coming 
slowly and painfully up the bordered kitchen path. 

“Goodness!” she exclaimed, letting her mouth fall 
open with surprise at the sight. “You here again, 
so soon! What's brought you this time, ole man? 
Cook fixed up next week with yer, didn’t she, ter 
finish them winders? She won’t be best pleased 
ter see yer agin; that she won’t.” 

Ole Tom stopped in his tracks and shook his 
grizzled old head with many mutterings. 

“Brought you a present, a pretty fairin’, young 
missy,” he said in his mournful voice. “But I 
didn’t expect ter ’ave sich a pore welcome! Look, 
see ’ow it sparkles! A ring, missy. Fit fer a 
queen.” 

“Ow goodie me! Cook, come ’ere, and look wot 
Ole Tom ’as brought me.” Dorothy skipped back 
into the kitchen excitedly, clapping her hands. 
Then she came out again with Cook’s plump figure 

243 


244 


The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

looming up behind her. “A fine ring, it is! If it 
don’t take all me wages fer ter buy it!” 

“Gracious mercy!” exclaimed Cook, on sight of the 
old pedler. “You ’ere again? ’Twas only yester¬ 
day you come before. And ter bring a ring ter 
Dorothy, too, so she says. Now, now, old man, no 
use ter be makin’ up to the likes of ’er!” 

Cook waved a floury forefinger and smiled as she 
shook her head, her kind heart beaming out at Ole 
Tom through her kindly eyes. 

“Not only young missy, ma’am,” replied Ole 
Tom with a grin, “but fer you, too. When I went 
’ome yesterday, my gran’darter she ses ter me, 
she ses, ‘Gran ’fer, ’tain’t often ye meets with a good 
Christian like that there lady in the kitchen of the 
Manor,’ ses she ter me, ‘an’ ’er givin’ you the bit er 
work an’ all, and a seat and a cup of tay fer tired 
bones,’ ses she. ‘ ’Tis fer you to take ’er up this lace 
collar straight away, and thank ’er fer bein’ so kind 
to a pore ole man.’” 

Speaking, he opened his worn little knapsack and 
drew out a piece of tissue paper, from which he took a 
wide lace collar and handed it to Cook with a gallant 
bow. That good woman was taken back with 
pleased surprise. 

“Well, well, well, if that ain’t real nice of you, ole 
man,” she said as she took it. “And ter think of 
you a-comin’ all this way up ter bring it to me! 
Where’s yer gran’darter, eh?” 


News at the Manor 


245 


“Out along back o’ Ponders,” replied he, with a 
shake of his grizzled head. “Her’s married, and 
give a bed to I fer a shakedown durin’ the week 
I’m ’ere wiv me peddlin’. ’Er ’usbin’s in the wicker 
trade, makin’ baskets and sich-like. An’ she give 
me this ter give you, and that there sparklin’ ring 
fer the young miss. Happen I c’d sit down a little 
in the sunshine, and rest, ma’am, if ye’d be so kind?” 

“Certainly, certainly!” Cook bustled about at 
once, well pleased with her gift, and a little flattered 
inwardly at the old man’s attention to her. “ ’Ere, 
sit ye down on this chair, and rest awhile. This do 
be a glorious day. Dorothy, run in an’ see if the 
kettle boils. Ole man’J like a cup of tea, I’ll be 
bound.” 

Then, as Dorothy sped away upon her light feet, 
Cook, arms akimbo, stood gazing down at this poor 
old specimen of humanity, and ruminated upon the 
sad life of the aged of his kind, even as she talked 
away to him in her steady flow of conversation. 

“Yes, fine day, indeed. There be big doin’s in the 
village to-day, so I ’ears. What’s that, eh? Oh, 
’tis the day chosen for the inquest upon that pore 
old gentleman what lived up at the ’Ouse on the 
’Ill, and met ’is death so suddintlike and sad. ’Tis 
a gruesome business, I take it, this inquest affair, 
though I’ve never yet been to sich in all my forty- 
five years.” 

“Indeed, ma’am?” Ole Tom’s voice ran up a 


246 


The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

quavering scale of amazement. “Well, ’tis not a 
pleasant sight, I promise ye. Not one fer a leddy 
to go to, from all I ’ears. Your madam’ll not ’ave 
to be goin’, of course, and none from the great ’ouse 
here, I suppose?” 

“Well, that’s where you suppose wrong.” Cook’s 
voice was full of mystery and significance. She 
rather liked chatting to this old man who paid such 
fervent attention to her views, and gave her, with 
his rheumy old eyes, such a full quota of respectful 
admiration. “For me lady ’as already been sent for, 
and nurse, too—Miss Ellison, that is, wot waits upon 
Sir George, pore thing, and finds life none too easy. 
I’ll be bound! I wouldn’t ’ave that job of ’ers fer 
nothink; that I wouldn’t!” 

Ole Tom raised surprised eyebrows. “Oh! So 
yer lady ’as ter go, does she?” he queried, taking 
out an old clay pipe and stuffing it with shag with 
one shaky thumb. “That be queer, don’t it? But 
I suppose that was simply because she went up to 
look for ’er son, like you told me, the night the dread¬ 
ful thing ’appened. Still, for a titled lady-” 

Cook tossed her head with a touch of injured dignity. 
“ ’Er ladyship’s not goin’, I kin tell you that,” she 
said flatly, “because she’s goin’ ter say she ’as a call 
up ter Lunnon an’ can’t possibly attend. So that 
ought to settle them officious policemen wot sent for 
’er, properly. ’Er don’t want to be mixed up with 
the business, naturally. Well, ’ere’s yer tea, ole 



News at the Manor 


247 


man. I must be goin’, else I’ll never finish. I’ve 
extry work to do to-day, with that there leddy’s- 
maid a-slippin’ off like that.” 

For a moment Ole Tom could barely restrain a smile. 
This was what he had come for, this very item of 
news, and he had got it without having to resort to 
questioning. Surely Cook was one of the most 
garrulous females he had ever encountered. He 
showed her a face of blank amazement. 

“Leddy’s-maid gone!” he exclaimed, gaping up 
at her. “Not that there smart young miss wot jum¬ 
bled up all me pretties yesterday? Not ’er, you 
don’t mean? Why, she only come a day or two 
back, you say.” 

“And found the place not quite to her leddyship’s 
likin’, I suppose!” responded Cook tartly, shrugging 
her shoulders. “Them smart ones of ’er sort are 
alius like that. Too stylish fer service, they are! 
I wouldn’t like ter say wot I think of ’em, fer it 
ain’t Christian, and I prefers ter keep me mouth shut 
on all wot doesn’t concern me.” 

She shook herself with that air of self-righteous¬ 
ness which belongs to the plain good woman whom 
no one would suspect of being other than what she 
looked, and turned back toward the kitchen door. 
And just as she did so, someone struck in through the 
pathway which led past the tradesmen’s entrance and 
into the main garden beyond, and Ole Tom, turning 
quickly, perceived her ladyship fairly running toward 


248 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

them, an open letter in her hand. Her face, rather 
paler this morning than it had been yesterday, 
showed every indication of anger. 

Ole Tom shuffled to his feet and doffed his cap 
instantly, setting down his cup of tea, while Cook, 
caught unawares as she was in this dispensing of her 
mistress’s largesse, flushed a deep red, and folded 
her hands across her apron, waiting for the charge 
which she fully expected to come. 

But her ladyship was too interested in something 
else to notice the old man at that moment. She 
waved the letter excitedly in Cook’s face, and spoke 
in a quick, agitated voice. 

“Did you ever hear of such impertinence in your 
life, Bridget!” she stormed angrily. “Here I have 
found a note from that Marie, pinned on to my pin¬ 
cushion, if you please, saying that she had found the 
situation not at all to her liking, and had therefore 
taken her leave. Packed up her bag and gone, and 
left me stranded. What servants are coming to, I 
don’t know! And when I wanted her to pack a bag 
for me so that I could get off to London by the twelve 
o’clock train, and miss that abominable inquest to 
which they have demanded my presence! It is 
most annoying, most!” 

Bridget’s soft calm voice broke affectionately in 
upon her mistress’s anger. “Ah, now, don’t be 
takin’ on about it too much, m’lady,” she said, 
with the familiarity and affection born of long 


News at the Manor 


249 


service with this mistress, for whom she would 
readily have given her right hand, if need be. “You 
just go upstairs again and rest yerself, and I’ll be 
cornin’ up and lookin’ after ye. Ye’re not strong 
enough to be bothered with them flighty girls, m ’lady, 
and I do say that that there young Dorothy is 
quick with her fingers, and with a little trainin’ 
would serve yer leddyship a deal better than them 
foreign ’ussies. I’m sorry, of course, m’lady, but 
don’t fret over it. I’ll bring ye up a cup of sum- 
mink ’ot in a minute or two, and you lie down on 
yer sofa and rest a bit. Bridget’ll see that every- 
think’s all right.” 

Her ladyship smiled, and Cleek, noting the smile, 
saw how it illumined her whole face. The tired, 
hollow eyes brightened visibly. She came forward 
and touched her faithful servant upon the arm. 

“You’re a dear, good soul, Bridget,” she said 
warmly, “and I don’t know how ever I should do 
without you. But who’s this old man? And what 
is he doing here? You know my orders about 
strangers.” 

Cook coloured up suddenly. 

“Yes, m’lady, I do that. But this ole man’s a 
pedler wot come yesterday, and wouldn t urt a 
fly.” This last in a lowered tone, as she nodded 
significantly at him. “Look at ’im, m’lady, and see 
fer yerself. He wouldn’t do no one any ’arm, ’e 
wouldn’t. And I was feelin’ so sorry for ’im, bein’ 


250 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

so old and all, that I give ’im a chair in the sun¬ 
shine and a cup o’ tea, knowin’ full well that yer 
leddyship’s kind ’eart wouldn’t wish me ter do other¬ 
wise.” 

Lady Brentwood looked at him for a moment 
through narrowed lids. Then she sighed and turned 
upon her heel. 

“Well,” she said, “I don’t doubt you’re right, 
Bridget. But don’t let him sit too long, and”—she 
came closer to the cook’s ample figure and low¬ 
ered her voice—“if those police officers come again 
and ask for me, tell them I’ve gone to London, 
Tell them I’m ill. Tell them anything, Bridget, 
so long as I don’t have to appear at that dreadful 
ceremony this afternoon.” Her voice thrilled with 
anxiety and her face had gone dreadfully white. 

“All right, m’lady, never you fear,” responded 
Cook in her kind, practical voice. “I’ll see to it 
that they don’t worry ye. Ye can trust your old 
Bridget, can’t ye, and rest quiet now?” 

Then, as her ladyship moved off, Cook stood 
watching her for a moment with a sad look in her 
eyes, and then, sighing, suddenly swung upon her 
heel and came toward where old Tom was sitting. 

“Her’s the sweetest mistress in Christendom,” 
she said in a sorrowful, low-pitched tone, shaking 
her head and puckering up her lips ruminatively. 
“And ’er life that sad! First with the squire and 
then Mr. Frank, and then—this other awful thing! 


251 


News at the Manor 

But what am I standin’ ’ere talkin’ fer, ole man? 
That s what I’d like ter know, when ’er leddyship is 
waitin’ fer a clip of ’ot soup to strengthen ’er, before 
she takes ’er rest. I could shake that Marie for 
worryin’ ’er like that, I could! An’ a kinder, nicer 
mistress never a servant ’ad!” 

Then she entered the kitchen again, and for a time 
Cleek sat on, sipping his tea and smoking his clay 
pipe, and thinking over many things. What, then, 
was this awful thing of which Cook spoke with bated 
breath? Had it, perhaps, some bearing upon that 
tragedy which had taken place upon that fateful 
night so short a time ago? And why did her lady¬ 
ship go up to the House on the Hill upon that very 
same tragic evening, on a pretence of seeing her son 
there? And if that were true, then why did Frank 
Brentwood go up there at all that night, and for what 
mysterious purpose? As he thought of the young 
man, and what he had heard out there in Limehouse 
last night in that hornets’ nest upon the wharf’s 
edge, his mouth grew suddenly grim. The end of 
the riddle was in sight, and someone was going to be 
severely hurt for the telling of it. 

Ten minutes later he set down his cup upon the 
flagged path, put his clay pipe in his pocket, and 
shambled over to the open kitchen door, poking his 
head in. 

“Good-morning to ye, and many thanks!” he sang 
out in his quavering, old man’s voice. Then he 


252 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

turned and went off down the pathway and out of 
the gate, toward the inn of the Golden Arm and the 
pursuit of still one more tangled thread which must 
be smoothed out before the end of the riddle could be 
successfully reached. 


CHAPTER XXX 


WHAT THE TRUNK HELD 

B ACK at the Golden Arm, Cleek summoned 
Dollops to a quiet talk in his bedroom, be¬ 
hind locked doors. They sat side by side 
upon a little settee drawn back from the window, 
with the book that they had discovered in the book¬ 
shop in that room of death for which Dollops had 
shown such a marked distaste open upon Cleek’s 
knee. Dollops’s head was pressed close against 
his master’s in an effort to read the closely written 
pages which Cleek had promised to share with him. 

Page after page passed under their scrutinizing 
eyes, and as each page was read, the look of wonder¬ 
ment, of horror, of blank amaze grew upon each 
countenance, until they looked up simultaneously 
at the culmination of it and expressed their joint 
feelings in ejaculation. 

“Gorblimey, sir!” said Dollops. 

“Great Heavens above!” exclaimed Cleek, closing 
the book with a snap and locking it away in an at¬ 
tache-case fitted with a patent key of which only he 
had the secret. “So that was it, was it? And that 
part of the riddle is solved. Just to think of it! 

253 


254 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

A man and a woman—like that! One didn’t know 
such methods existed, eh, Dollops? And here, right 
under the nose of the Yard. Heigho! But there’s 
much yet to learn in the handling of the educated 
criminal before justice and law are perfected to such 
a degree that they may finally eradicate wrong¬ 
doing altogether. 

“Business-like old josser, wasn’t it? With his 
neatly kept records. A lifelong habit, doubtless, 
too old to be broken, even under such circumstances. 
Which only goes to show, Dollops, how habit makes 
slaves of all of us, good and bad alike, until we are 
bound to it in chains of steel and fetters of iron. 
Look here. We’ve got three hours and a half yet 
before that inquest begins, and a pocketful of tangled 
skeins still unravelled. Game for another search 
of the House on the Hill, eh?” 

Dollops sprang to his feet, nodding his head at the 
sunlight which streamed through the open window 
of the bedroom, as one who says, “Any mystery is 
easy in the daylight.” 

“Ra-ther, sir! Let’s hustle along now, afore the 
superintendent gets wind that we’re back again. 
Any ideas where them two Chink servants got to, 
sir? Him what come down wiv you and the pore lit¬ 
tle prince, and him what was up at the ’Ouse on the 
’Ill as the gentleman’s boy?” 

Cleek made a wry face at him. 

“That’s just the dickens of it, I haven’t,” he re- 


What the Trunk Held 


255 


turned, with a sigh. “Those two Chinamen seem to 
have vanished off the very face of the earth. And 
until I do know, it’s going to be the very devil to 
pin the crime on to any one person’s shoulders. 
And yet, with Frank Brentwood there that night, 
and his mother, too-” 

Dollops twitched up enquiring eyebrows. “ ’Er 
ladyship at the ’Ouse on the ’Ill on that fatal night, 
sir?” he gasped out. “Shorely you ain’t thinkin’ 
she ’ad anythink ter do wiv it. Not a real lady like 
’er. I saw ’er in the village yesterday, walkin’ wiv 
a friend, and blow me if I didn’t fink she’d got the 
saddest phiz I ever looked at. You ain’t a-thinkin’ 
she ’ad anythink ter do wiv it, are yer?” 

“I’m not thinking anything out loud just for the 
present, my lad,” returned Cleek with a one-sided 
smile. “There are some thoughts I am keeping 
entirely to myself. And just what connection 
Lady Brentwood had with the tragedy is better, for 
the present, left severely alone. Only I mean her 
ladyship to appear at the inquest this afternoon, 
no matter what plea of sickness she gives. And 
that is why I toddled off to the station and inter¬ 
viewed the guard. Her ladyship will have no ticket 
for London issued to her to-day, upon any pretence 
whatever. And neither will Maud Ellison, even if she 
applies for one. With the evidence I have against 
both of ’em, Dollops, I don’t mean to lose sight of 
either if I can possibly help it. Come along.” 



256 


The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

Together they descended the stairs and sidled across 
the hall, nodding to Betsy, who was busily dusting 
in the smoking room, in return for her friendly greet¬ 
ing. 

“Got back, ’ave yer?” she said, with a laugh. 
“Up to some sort of tricks larst night, I’ll be bound. 
Well, ’ollerdays is ’ollerdays, and if Mr. Smithers 
wants ter tyke me ter the pictures to-morrer evenin’ 
-—which is my evenin’ orf, you see—I’ve no objec¬ 
tion.” 

She winked at Dollops, who winked back, nudging 
Cleek with the point of his elbow. 

“Rather! I don’t fink!” he returned enthusias¬ 
tically. “Me pal’s booked them, ain’t yer, Bill? 
So’s I kin get orf all right. And we’ll do a show to¬ 
gether. So long.” 

“S’long!” returned Betsy, blowing a kiss at him 
from the tips of her fingers. “Narsty sort er show on 
terday, though, so the milkman tells me. Hinquest 
at the ’Ouse on the ’HI at ’arf-past two. Not goin’ 
there, I suppose?” 

Dollops did a very creditable attempt at a shiver, 
while Cleek shook his head decidedly. 

“Rather not,” he said in a tone of distaste. 
“Them things don’t appeal to me, they don’t. 
Come on, matey. We must be off. See you later, 
Betsy-girl.” 

Then they passed out of the front door and struck 
off through the adjacent woods in the direction of 


What the Trunk Held 


257 


the House on the Hill, and toward a new angle of the 
case upon which they were employed which neither 
had ever even dreamed of. 

They found Leeson on guard outside the door. 
Within, several extra men from a near-by village were 
busy getting ready for the afternoon’s gruesome 
business, under the directorship of Inspector Cog- 
well, who seemed to be making a great to-do over 
the arrangement of the chairs round the big dining 
room, so that everyone should be accommodated. 

He greeted them with a curt nod, mentally register¬ 
ing them as “those jackanapes from Lunnon,” 
Cleek eyed him for a minute through narrowed lids 
as he gave his directions. He had not liked the man 
on first sight, and every time he saw him he liked 
him a little less. There was something shifty, 
deuced peculiar, in this lazy inspector which got his 
gorge up. But under cover of his George Headland 
make-up he blundered up to him, and made his 
wants known. 

“Look here,” said he in his rough, uneducated 
voice, “I wants you and yer men to clear out of 
’ere for a little while. Me and my mate is goin’ ter 
make a little extra investigation of the place, and we 
don’t want no onlookers.” 

“ Oh, you don’t, don’t yer? And who give you your 
instructions, I’d like ter know?” returned the 
inspector with some heat. “ Jist because you comes 
from Lunnon is no reason why you should treat other 


258 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

folk who don’t, like dirt! I’m not clearin’ out of this 
room until me work’s done, that’s flat.” 

Cleek smiled a trifle grimly. “Oh, yes, you are, 
Inspector,” he replied in his “Carstairs” tone, which 
gave that worthy a fright from which he would be 
long recovering, judging from his gaping mouth and 
change of colour. “You remember a gentleman 
called Carstairs, don’t you? And a slight reprimand 
which Superintendent Narkom of Scotland Yard ad¬ 
ministered to you a day or so back? Well, I’ve my 
instructions straight from him. You shift, and shift 
now. We want this place to ourselves, if you please. 
In two hours’ time you can return, not before.” 

“Oh, all right. Dashed if I know just who you 
are, but no offence meant, I’m sure,” replied the 
inspector. “So long as you give me time to git the 
room ready for the coroner, I’ve no quarrel with your 
stayin’ ’ere alone. Come along, men, I’ll find work 
for you elsewhere.” 

“You might improve the shining hour by making 
a further detour of the gardens and seeing what you 
can find,” threw in Cleek, as the inspector reached 
the doorway, followed by his quota of workers. 

“I’ve searched every inch of the ground and found 
nothing, up to the present,” he replied snappishly, 
and with a churlishness which got Cleek’s blood up. 

“Well, search some more, and be damned to you!” 
he said, and then, as the inspector left the room and 
shut the door, he turned the key in the lock on their 


What the Trunk Held 


259 


side of it, and laughed a trifle sheepishly into Dol¬ 
lops’s face. “I can’t somehow help losing my temper 
with that blighter. Now, Dollops, I’m going to 
show you a thing or two. Give a hand with this 
sideboard, like a good lad. That’s the way. I’m 
going to take another squint at that Echo Chamber, 
and see if it will tell me anything further of the 
mystery which besets us at present.” 

They both placed their shoulders against the side 
of the huge monstrosity, and the sideboard moved 
out of its accustomed groove, showing the flat panel 
of wall behind it. Cleek’s fingers soon found the 
spring and pressed upon it. He waited while the 
panel slid silently into place behind the remainder of 
the wall, showing its cavernous passage littered 
with crumbling plaster and mouldering brick. 

“Lawks!” exclaimed Dollops, at sight of it. “So 
this is ’ow it’s done, is it? Filthy-lookin’ spot, I 
musts’y. Shall I go first?” 

“No,” returned Cleek quietly. “I will.” He 
entered through the aperture, crawling upon his 
hands and knees, with the boy close at his heels. 
They straightened themselves in the passage, and 
made for the shut door, behind which they had first 
discovered the body of the man who had been a wo¬ 
man, or the woman who had been a man, they did not 
quite know which. Cleek turned the handle and 
opened it cautiously. The body had been removed 
to the local morgue until the afternoon’s inquest, and 


260 


The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

there was only a sinister dark brown stain upon the 
floor to show where it had lain. 

Cleek went down on his hands and knees and began 
examining every inch of the flooring with his magni¬ 
fying glass, while Dollops stood and gaped at him. 
There was no carpet, simply the bare boards, dust¬ 
laden and dirty, for the place had obviously been 
used as a storeroom for books and old clothing. 
Piles of torn papers and shabby books lined three 
sides of the wall, and on the other was an old trunk 
filled with similar articles. 

After ten minutes thus spent, Cleek got to his feet 
and brushed the dust from his trousers’ knees. 

“I’m going to move that trunk, Dollops,” he said 
at last, after a brief surveyal of the room. “I don’t 
suppose there’s a dashed thing behind it—it’s too 
close to the wall—but all the same, I’m going to, so 
lend a hand, like a good chap.” 

“Fair furniture men we’re gettin’ to be, ain’t we, 
sir?” grinned Dollops, as he placed his arms in posi¬ 
tion. “Ain’t it ’eavy, eh? Takes a bit er movin’, 
I must say.” 

“Old papers and books are nearly the heaviest 
things there are in the world,” replied Cleek with a 
smile. “Here, let’s tip some of the contents out. 
It can’t do any harm to disarrange the old chap’s 
papers now. So here goes.” 

Then he reached over, lifted the lid of the great 
trunk, and began to remove from the top some of the 


What the Trunk Held 


261 


filthy papers and books that were crowded down 
into it. Then he sprang back with a gasp of horrified 
amazement. For under the assortment of manu¬ 
scripts lay the twisted body of a partly naked 
Chinese. 

“Ow, what an ’orrible sight!” ejaculated Dollops, 
covering his face with his hands. “Ow orful! Anuvver 
blinkin’ Chink, sir!” 

“Yes, Dollops, another blinkin’ Chink, as you say. 
What is the secret of this House of Horrors? This 
is the second Chinese body we have discovered, or, 
rather, the first, because the other was simply made 
up to look like one. Was it Octavius Spender’s boy, or 
wasn’t it? I’d give a good deal to know that. Cover 
the beastly thing down again, and let’s shift it out 
of the way. It’s enough to make your flesh creep!” 

Then, as Dollops let the lid drop down hurriedly 
and hid the ghastly sight from view, the two of them 
leant their shoulders once more to the business of 
shifting the trunk, and got it well out into the middle 
of the room. There came a smashing sound to the 
left of them, near where it had stood, they were con¬ 
scious of a trap door being lifted and swung back 
with amazing speed, and before they could move, a 
whirling figure leapt out and hurled itself upon them 
both, muttering curses in an unknown tongue. Its 
hand was raised high, with something that looked 
like a bar of iron held in it. In a flash it came 
down with a smashing blow upon Cleek’s head. 


CHAPTER XXXI 


THE INQUEST 


PRECISELY half-past two that afternoon 



the coroner, a short, thick-set little man 


with keen eyes behind gold-rimmed spec¬ 
tacles, and with a fair share of knowledge of his own 
importance, entered the dining room of the House 
on the Hill, followed by his clerk, and took his 
place at the table set ready for him, nodding a brief 
greeting to the superintendent, who, lips pursed up, 
brows drawn down, and hands joined behind his 
broad back, was wondering what on earth had be¬ 
come of his famous ally, and whether Cleek had found 
out anything at all about the mystery of the Chinese 
prince’s disappearance. 

To be perfectly candid, Mr. Narkom was feeling 
decidedly unhappy about the whole affair. Some¬ 
how or other, the tangled threads of this most mys¬ 
terious riddle had been almost unsolvable, and for 
his part he had been able to gather very little from 
the facts and clues that had come under his notice. 
Cleek, of course, he realized, was Cleek, possessor 
of that weird sixth sense which can scent out an¬ 
swers, but, receiving no word from him beforehand. 


263 


The Inquest 

and knowing the importance of the matter and the 
fact that the governor of Kwang-Tin would be wait¬ 
ing anxiously for further news of his son, Mr. Nar- 
kom was indulging in a little private worrying upon 
his own account. 

If Cleek hadn’t said he wanted to disappear for 
twenty-four hours, he might not have been so 
troubled. But Margot was on the trail, even though 
she thought Cleek dead after that nicely managed 
dead-body affair which they had arranged, and one 
never knew just when Margot might discover that 
death to have been a trumped-up one, and that 
Cleek the Cracksman, for whom she had been scour¬ 
ing Europe fruitlessly ever since he had given up the 
paths of darkness for the brighter roads of day, was 
as alive and active as ever before. 

Margot’s proximity in the affair was unfortunate, 
and where that little prince had been carried—or his 
dead body hidden, together with the precious jewel 
which it bore upon its breast—was more than Mr. 
Narkom eould readily conceive. 

He returned the coroner’s greeting moodily, and 
then, seeing that the room was beginning to fill with 
all those who had been summoned to the inquest 
and a good crowd of outsiders who by hook or by 
crook had got in to satisfy their morbid curiosity, 
heaved a tremendous sigh and brought himself back 
to the business of the hour. 

Inspector Cogwell, rather hang-doggish under the 


264 


The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

eyes of bis superior officer—whose presence herein 
his true form gave that worthy person an uncom¬ 
fortable stab of surprise—was on duty in the room, 
his minions behind him—Jeffries, Leeson, and an¬ 
other member of the force who came in from the 
next village five miles away. 

Mr. Narkom’s bright little eyes surveyed the in¬ 
spector coldly, gave him the merest nod of recogni¬ 
tion, and then continued their relentless way over 
the fast-filling room. There was Maud Ellison, 
with her pinched, pale face, which should have been 
beautiful, but from which anxiety—and something 
else—had starved out the good looks. Close beside 
her stood Frank Brentwood, looking miserably down 
at her, as one who should say, “What in the world 
will they do with us?” Lady Brentwood herself, 
here at last, because the law demanded her presence 
and the station master would not issue her a ticket to 
London, stood close by her son, her strained white 
look striking a note of pity in the superintendent’s 
heart. 

He looked from son to mother, from mother to son, 
and shook his head sadly. There was going to be 
some further unhappiness to stamp itself upon that 
pale mother face after this afternoon’s findings, if 
the case went as he expected it should. And he 
wasn’t too sure that Lady Brentwood herself was 
not also involved in the ghastly affair. For Cleek 
had told him about the mud-stained evening gown, 


265 


The Inquest 

and what Cook had said of her ladyship’s going to 
the House on the Hill in search of her son, and her 
interview with Octavius Spender. But she couldn’t 
have committed the crime in league with Brentwood, 
surely she could not! It was asking too much of Mr. 
Narkom’s knowledge of human nature to believe that. 

For a moment more he continued his searching 
gaze. There was that Miss Omritt, the Lady 
Bountiful of the village, with her friend Miss Bever¬ 
ley, of the suspicious letter, her sweet face like a 
withered rose-petal under its black lace hat. A 
bright-faced little creature like that! It warmed 
one’s heart to look upon her. The rest of the 
room, for the time being, held many whom Mr. 
Narkom neither knew nor cared about. Then 
Doctor Hunter came in, with a little, dark, bright¬ 
eyed lady in widow’s weeds, who went instantly up 
to Lady Brentwood and laid a hand gently upon her 
arm. 

Mr. Narkom could see how her ladyship’s eyes 
brightened at sight of the newcomer, who was, no 
doubt, Mrs. Verity of the End House. He saw 
the doctor slip through the crowd and take up his 
position on the other side of Maud Ellison, and 
saw the glance which Brentwood gave him. If looks 
could kill, the handsome doctor would have lain 
dead at his enemy’s feet. Mr. Narkom smiled a 
trifle wryly to himself. 

He turned his head sharply in the direction of the 


266 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

coroner and his clerk, who, between them, were 
examining some papers and making a great to-do 
of arranging them upon the table top. Mr. Nar- 
kom’s own little attache-case, with its few valuable 
clues within, rested at the coroner’s right hand. 
At the correct moment it would be opened and its 
contents seen. That little packet of cyanide which 
Cleek had discovered in Frank Brentwood’s room 
—that would take a lot of explaining away. But he 
hoped Cleek would turn up before anything definite 
had to be done. Somehow, at thought of Cleek, a 
little pang of anxiety entered his heart. He hoped 
sincerely all was well with him. The best friend, 
surely, a man ever had. 

Then he became conscious of the coroner’s droning 
voice, and realized that the case had begun. His 
faculties called themselves to attention instantly. 
This was the sort of thing he knew something about. 
One had to keep one’s eyes open. No time for ru¬ 
minating now. Every expression, every word spoken 
counted for or against the person who spoke or 
looked it. 

He heard the droning resume given by Mr. Piperson, 
the coroner, in his best style, and embellished 
with rhetorical touches which were rather amusing. 
Keenly he followed the outline of what had taken 
place at the House, on the Hill that night, and noted 
that, although the worthy gentleman might be long- 
winded, he was amazingly accurate. 


The Inquest 267 

Then Mr. Piperson leant toward him with a ques¬ 
tion. 

Mr. Narkom answered it grimly. “I should call 
young Brentwood, were I you,” he said in a low- 
pitched tone. “No need beating about the bush. 
The thing must come to light. And we can get over 
the lesser part of the evidence before my confrere, 
who has been upon this case with me, puts in an 
appearance.” 

The coroner nodded, and whispered something to 
the clerk. “Mr. Frank Brentwood,” the latter 
called out in a ringing voice. Mr. Narkom saw the 
sudden start of amazement which Maud Ellison gave 
at the sound of her lover’s name; noted, too, the 
paling of cheeks and lips and the quick, darting, af¬ 
frighted look of her wide eyes. He saw how 
Frank Brentwood’s handsome, weak face blanched, 
and how he drew his lips in, and then, assuming an 
air of affected nonchalance, nodded to his mother 
and his sweetheart and pushed his way toward the 
table. 

Hand upon the Bible, he took his oath. This 
finished, he spoke loudly to the coroner: “I hardly 
understand,” said he, “why I should be called upon 
first of all, and what evidence I can give which may 
have any bearing upon this appalling affair. My 
dear Mr. Piperson, this is really rather amusing, 
but-” 

The coroner raised his hand for silence, his face 



268 


The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

stern, and Frank Brentwood’s words petered off 
into nothingness, as he stood waiting for the cross- 
examination to begin. 

For ten minutes he stood it, question and answer 
flying backward and forward. Mr. Narkom could 
not but admire the coroner’s clear-sighted vision and 
quick thought. He noted, too, how Brentwood 
began to stammer nervously, substituting “yes” 
when he meant “no” and “no” when he meant 
“yes,” and altogether involving himself in speech 
and story. 

The room was as silent as the grave. One could 
have heard a pin drop. Everyone was craning for¬ 
ward for a better view, a better hearing of what was 
going on. 

“ Having heard that you are employed with Messrs. 
Amos & Co., jewellers of Cheapside, Mr. Brent¬ 
wood,” spoke up the coroner in his calm, clear voice, 
“how comes it that, during the very week when this 
thing happened, and when the Amber Ship was ex¬ 
pected to appear in this neighbourhood, you were 
on holiday from your work? You have only held 
it—on your own word—for a mere matter of four 
weeks. Rather extraordinary, that, being given a 
holiday so early, isn’t it?” 

“No, seeing that I was given it by Mr. Amos him¬ 
self,” returned Brentwood sulkily, and with a very 
tremor of nerves. “I—I—that is ” 

Lady Brentwood’s perfectly modulated voice, 


The Inquest 269 

rising now to a note of excitement, struck in upon 
them rapidly. 

“This is monstrous, an impertinence! To dream 
of trying to inveigle my son in this dastardly affair! 
I’ll have the law upon you, sir!” 

“I’m afraid, madam, that that is just what I am 
having upon you!” returned the coroner. “And I 
must ask you to keep silence while I am cross-ex¬ 
amining the witness. Now, sir, you say you were 
given a holiday by your employer? You definitely 
state that?” 

“I do.” 

“Then you lie.*’ The words came out with barely 
a tremor of emotion in them. “Because here before 
me I have a letter from Mr. Amos, to whom Mr. 
Narkom here, a superintendent of that very big 
organization to which we owe many debts of grati¬ 
tude, Scotland Yard, made enquiries as to the 
veracity of your statement. Mr. Amos says that 
you were sent out travelling for the firm, and that 
your destination should have been north, not south. 
How comes it, then, that your statement and your 
employer’s does not tally in any point?” 

“I—I—that is—” 

An agonized voice came suddenly from the back 
of the room. “Frank—Frank! I warned you! 
It was foolish not to speak the truth over so small a 
thing! Tell it all now, dear, every bit, please” 

“Silence!” The coroner shot an angry look in 


270 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

the direction from which the interruption came, and 
caught the agonized stare of Maud Ellison’s eyes. 

“You own it a lie, then?” 

Brentwood hung his head. “Very well, then, I 
do.” 

“H’m. One point definitely reached. Then why 
did you come down here at that time at all?” 

“Because I wanted to see the lady to—to whom I 
am engaged, whom I am going to m—marry.” Brent¬ 
wood’s stammering voice broke upon the last word. 

“Oh. But why choose that particular week— 
especially when you would be having a week-end in 
which to meet shortly afterward? I can’t swallow 
that altogether, Mr. Brentwood, much as I would 
like to. But we’ll let that pass. The second point 
is this: I have evidence that you take photographs.” 

“I don’t see what bearing that has upon the case.” 

The coroner smiled. “Probably you don’t. But 
the fact remains. Is it true?” 

“No. Not at all.” 

“Then you have a camera?” 

“ On the contrary, my good sir, I don’t possess one.” 

The coroner shook his head sadly. “Mr. Brent¬ 
wood! Mr. Brentwood!” he ejaculated in a mourn¬ 
ful voice. “If you will persist in standing in the way 
of justice, you will only bring affairs tumbling upon 
your shoulders! See this snapshot taken by a small 
camera? You took that of Miss Ellison, did you 
not?” 


271 


The Inquest 

He held up the little picture. Frank Brentwood 
fairly snatched at it, then his face went a shade or 
two paler. 

“Oh, yes, I forgot. Borrowed that camera from a 
chum of mine who was staying in the village at the 
time. Chap called Morris—Fred Morris. And I 
took that snap of Miss Ellison under the tree in 
Covers’ Field. I had forgotten entirely. But where 
does it come in, may I ask?” 

“ Simply in the developing of the film. Developers 
contain a percentage of cyanide of potassium, and— 
get this clearly, please—the unfortunate woman who 
was masquerading as Mr. Octavius Spender and who 
was murdered by a Malay kris was also poisoned 
by that very same poison.” 

“And you think I did it? You dare to think that?” 
The astonished note in Brentwood’s voice was very 
well done, if it were affected at all. “You’re trying 
to accuse me of that murder, are you? What reason 
would I have of killing old Spender? A nice, gentle 
old fellow like that! Oh, you must be crazy— 
insane. I never did it, I tell you. I never did it. 
I’ll swear it on the Bible.” 

“I’m afraid we can’t trust to your swearing; you’ve 
done that already, and perjured yourself twice,” 
returned the coroner quietly. “We’ll leave that 
for the present, and come back to it later. Doctor 
Hunter, will you stand forward a minute, please? 
I want you to tell the assembled company just what 


272 


The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

you overheard in the driveway of the House on the 
Hill the other morning.” 

The handsome doctor rose, bowed a little stiffly, 
and then came with perfect self-possession down the 
long room to take up his place beside Brentwood, 
whose tall figure towered above him quite half a foot. 

He took the oath quietly, and then gave his evi¬ 
dence. 

“It was on Monday morning,” he said in perfectly 
clear accents. “I was passing in the roadway in 
my car, on my way to a case, when I heard voices 
at the gate of the House on the Hill, and realizing 
that I should have to call there and see Mr. Spender 
on my way back—he had borrowed a couple of books 
of mine, and I was bringing him another one—and 
recognizing the voice also”— he turned and bowed 
significantly toward Frank Brentwood, who glared 
back at him in return—“I did that abominable and 
pernicious thing, sir: I listened. Mr. Brentwood 
here was arguing with Mr. Spender over something, 
and pulling at his sleeve. ‘Just one little peep, to 
show my employer,’ he was saying. ‘Just one little 
glimpse, and you shall have it back immediately 
afterward!’ And Mr. Spender was shaking his 
head and puckering up his lips and looking very dis¬ 
tressed and agitated about it.” 

“You liar!” Frank Brentwood fairly sprang at 
the doctor and caught him by the throat. A brace 
of policemen drew him away, holding his arms 


273 


The Inquest 

pinioned close behind. He struggled for freedom, his 
face purple, his eyes wide. “That’s a damned lie! 

I never said it! I never did! I-” 

“You give your evidence upon the Bible, Doctor 
Hunter?” put in the coroner quietly, ignoring the 
interruption. 

“I do.” 

“Then, as a reputable gentleman, I take it as such. 
After that, what happened?” 

The doctor smiled a little, straightening his tie 
and shifting his collar. 

“Why, I realized that this was hardly cricket, and 
moved off. The rest I never heard.” 

“Thank you. That’s all, I think. Now, Mr. 
Brentwood, you’ve heard this gentleman’s evidence?” 

“I have.” Frank Brentwood’s voice was thick, 
his breath came shortly. “And every word of it is a 
lie, every word of it. I never said such a thing at 
all. I was asking Mr. Spender for—something else. 
I never mentioned my employer at all. I swear that. 
Never mentioned him once.” 

“What was that something else, then?” 

Came a sudden silence across the crowded room. 
Then, “That’s nothing to do with you or anybody,” 
replied the young man in a shaken voice, bracing his 
shoulders as for an unseen attack. 

“Excuse me, but it has. Remember, sir, you have 
twice perjured yourself, and that is punishable by 
law, apart from any more serious offence against it. 


274 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

Think well before you speak. What was this other 
thing?” 

Frank Brentwood’s eyes darted rapidly over the 
room as though seeking somewhere some method of 
escape. His glance met Maud Ellison’s, and then 
travelled over to his mother’s chalk-white coun¬ 
tenance. Then he flung up his chin. 

“I refuse to tell,” he said sullenly, with an ugly set 
of the mouth. 

“Oho?” The coroner’s voice held a nasty note. 
He leant toward Mr. Narkom, who, giving a vigor¬ 
ous nod, opened the case at his side, and drew out a 
little white paper package. “You refuse to tell, do 
you? Well, then, perhaps this will help. Can you 
tell me, Mr. Brentwood, just how this packet of 
cyanide came to be hidden in your drawer at the 
Manor House? Can you tell me that?” 

A startled shriek was the only answer—a woman’s 
shriek. The coroner’s eyes shifted in its direction, 
as all others did. Then someone went hastily for a 
glass of water, and someone else proffered smelling- 
salts. For the shriek had emanated from the lips of 
Lady Brentwood, and following that awful sound, 
her ladyship had fallen back fainting in Miss Ellison’s 


arms. 


CHAPTER XXXII 


CLEEK INTERVENES 

P ANDEMONIUM instantly ensued. Her 
ladyship was carried toward the window, at 
which a constable stood on duty, and the 
lower frame of it was thrown open. Meanwhile 
Brentwood, his tortured eyes following his mother’s 
figure, stood there, his whole figure that of a man 
upon the defensive for his life. 

“So you refuse to tell, do you?” put in Mr. Piperson 
again in a sarcastic voice. “Very sorry, I’m sure, 
to cause your mother any extra uneasiness, Mr. 
Brentwood, but the thing must be discovered, the 
law must be served, as Mr. Narkom here will tell 
you. In such cases one’s own personal feelings 
must take second place.” 

“It’s a damned outrage to haul me into it at all!” 
said Brentwood passionately. “That’s what I call 
it, a damned outrage! Why don’t you discover the 
chap who did the dastardly thing, without trying to 
stick it on someone who didn’t? And you call 
that serving the law? Of all the thick-headed, 
blundering idiots-” 


275 


£76 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

“Silence, please!” thundered the coroner, stung out 
of his bland manner by the sudden attack upon him. 
“This isn’t going to help you, Mr. Brentwood. 
From the beginning you have tried, systematically, 
to frustrate every effort made to attempt to come 
to the bottom of this thing. Candidly, I think the 
case looks very black against you. I should like to 
hear what Miss Ellison has to say first, and after 
that-” 

“And after that, I suppose, you’ll send me to quod 
for a liar, though you’ll never make me hang for a 
murderer; that I can promise you.” 

“Stand down!” The coroner’s voice fairly thun¬ 
dered his demands. 

Then the clerk called, “Miss Maud Ellison,” and 
the second part of this bewildering drama was about 
to be played. 

She gave her evidence in a low, tense voice, barely 
to be heard, and her eyes never once met those of the 
coroner. Only again and again they searched the 
countenance of the man who sat, for the time being, 
at her side; of the lover who had thus called the anger 
of the law down upon his head, and who might yet 
have to bear the brunt of its awful justice. 

Something in the slender figure stirred Mr. Nar- 
kom’s heart as he watched her. She was only a 
slip of a girl, but this ordeal was visibly adding years 
to her, so that one could almost trace the marks of 
them stamping themselves upon her pale, wan face. 


Cleek Intervenes 


277 


She might have been his daughter, and here she was 
standing on what could almost be a trial of her life, 
and every moment drawing herself and her lover 
deeper into the mire of the whole appalling affair. 

At last the coroner shot a question. Lifting the 
little white packet from the table once more, he held 
it up before her eyes. 

“Now, Miss Ellison,” he said quietly, “you can 
tell me something of this, I know. How did it 
come to be in Mr. Brentwood’s drawer? How did 
he come by it?” 

“I do not know! I swear I do not know!” It 
was a wail rather than a reply. 

“You would swear that upon the Bible?” 

“I—I—oh! I know nothing of it—nothing! 
Why do you torture me? Do you think I committed 
the murder, then?—I, who would not lay my fingers 
upon any one to do them harm? What is it you are 
trying to get out of me with this constant question¬ 
ing?” 

“The truth!” The words shot out over the still¬ 
ness, but they came from another quarter altogether. 
Of a sudden there was the sound of a door being 
flung roughly open, and Cleek’s voice ringing out 
over the sudden silence which had fallen, even as 
Cleek himself, undisguised, and with a white bandage 
girt about his head, and a pale face showing beneath 
it, pushed himself through the crowd, and came to 
rest at the coroner’s table. 


278 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

‘Til tell you the truth,” he cried, even as Mr. 
Narkom, leaping forward with thankfulness in every 
line of his round red face, and anxiety showing in 
his eyes, caught him by the arm. 

“Cleek, you’re hurt?” 

“Just a crack on the head which knocked me out 
for a time, but which, fortunately, I was able to 
avoid a goodly share of,” returned that gentleman, 
with an affectionate smile at his worried superior. 
“And I’m here at last, though a good half hour late. 
You may thank someone else for that. Mr. Coroner, 
may I be sworn in before this enquiry goes any fur¬ 
ther?” 

“This is rather irregular, sir.” 

“Yes, but then I am one of those beings to whom 
Scotland Yard permits the most alarming irregulari¬ 
ties,” replied Cleek, with a faint smile. “Here’s my 
name.” He pushed a card over to him, and waited 
while the coroner suddenly began to grin and throw 
up astonished eyebrows, and then extended the 
big book for him to take his oath. 

Cleek took it quietly, then he whirled round upon 
the assembled company. 

“Mr. Brentwood, Miss Ellison, kindly go over 
there, together, and stand there until I give you 
orders to move,” he said. “I’ve something to say 
which will interest you both, I’ve no doubt. You 
don’t remember that chap, George Headland, do 
you, Brentwood, who stood you drinks a night or two 


Cleek Intervenes 279 

ago in the little smoking room of the Golden Arm? 
No? Well, look, and see if you do now.” 

Of a sudden he writhed his face, until it changed 
completely; until the features somehow blurred 
and lost their clearness of outline; until the dull 
stupidity of George Headland’s expression came 
over them. A gasp of amazement went up from the 
crowded room. Brentwood, under the scrutiny of 
those uncanny eyes, that seemed to alter as well in 
some indescribable fashion, gave out a gasp of as¬ 
tonishment and paled visibly. 

Cleek grinned. “Aha! I see you do recognize 
me now, which is all to the good. Now, Mr. Coroner, 
I ask but to do one thing, to perform one service for 
the present, and that is to produce the murderer of 
at least one of the victims who have died in this un¬ 
fortunate and appalling affair. I have your per¬ 
mission?” 

“You have my permission.” 

Cleek bowed, then, with something of the theatrical 
in his manner, which he could never eradicate from 
his being when the end of one of his riddles was in 
sight, he beckoned to one of the constables stand¬ 
ing near by, fixed his eyes upon Frank Brentwood 
and Maud Ellison, and bore down upon them swiftly. 
Lady Brentwood, now recovered sufficiently to 
take some interest in affairs from her seat by the 
window, shrieked as he approached her son, and threw 
an arm across her face. Maud Ellison turned the 


280 


The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

colour of freshly made dough, and shook as though 
with an ague, while Frank Brentwood, eyes staring 
out of a livid face, let his mouth drop open in terrified 
amazement and fear as Cleek came step by step for¬ 
ward in his direction. 

Over the quiet room the sound of hastily dropped 
exclamations of amazement shattered the silence. 
“Good Heaven! Who’d have thought it?” “My 
Gawd! Vs goin’ to catch ’im fer sure, the wasting 
young blighter!” “Well, Vs been and gorn and 
done it this time!” 

Then, of a sudden, a strange thing happened, for 
Cleek swerved in his path, as all eyes were riveted 
upon the unfortunate pair of lovers, gave a little low 
whistle, and, as two plain-clothes men sprang out 
of the assembled company, bore down swiftly, all 
three of them, upon Doctor Hunter and his sister, 
Mrs. Verity. They had stood together during the 
whole proceedings, and with their shocked glances 
and constant shakings of the head had denoted 
how this verdict against a friend’s son was affecting 
them. 

Instantly there was pandemonium. The doctor 
fought like a wildcat under Cleek’s restraining 
clutches, until the handcuffs were snicked upon his 
wrists and he could fight no more; Mrs. Verity be¬ 
came a biting, scratching, kicking devil who hurled 
her epithets at them in an unknown tongue. But 
the handcuffs were set upon her wrists, too, and at a 


Cleek Intervenes 


281 


rapid question from the coroner Cleek whirled in his 
tracks and waved a triumphant hand toward them. 

“The co-murderer of Octavius Spender and his 
assistant,” he gave out sharply. “Here you have 
them, a brace of crafty half-castes, taking from the 
country that housed them and gave them their bread 
that which lies against its heart! Trampling its 
honourable professions in the dust, using them as a 
means to cover their blood-stained tracks. Look at 
them, ladies and gentlemen, and after you have had 
your fill of these beauties, kindly file out as quickly 
and as quietly as possible, while the remainder of 
the affair, which belongs only to the ears of the few, 
is brought to its successful conclusion.” 

“You beast! You mad, crazy, idiotic beast!” 
rapped out Doctor Hunter suddenly, biting his 
words off in fury. “How could you dare to say 
such things! You think you are clever, eh? Oh, 
so clever! But you do not know anything! I’ll 
have the law upon you for this outrage, whoever 
you are! You shall not go unscathed for placing my 
sister and me into this abominable position. Oh, 
if only my hands were free.” 

“They would be instantly shackled once more, 
I promise you that,” retorted Cleek. “It’s no use 
losing your temper, Gungha Dal; it won’t help you at 
all. You and your precious sister have practised 
upon unsuspecting good will long enough. The 
Balankha-Dahs are under police surveillance now. 


282 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

after my little visit to them last night, and the 
Amber Ship will never now fall into their hands.” 

“The Amber Ship! What do you know of the 
Amber Ship? You have found it, then—you have 
it?” The Hindoo’s curiosity got the better even of 
his anger. He strained forward toward Cleek, 
between his tall captors, his eyes spitting fire. 

“Oh, yes, I know where that is, all right. Like to 
see it before you go to your cell to await English 
justice? Very well; you shall.” 

He gave a long, low whistle, and the most amazing 
thing of that whole amazing afternoon came to pass. 
At sound of it the door again opened, and an odd 
cavalcade came in. First Dollops, a triumphant 
grin upon his face, leading by the arm a little slip of 
a figure clad in negligee and bedroom slippers, above 
the collar of whose garments showed a pinched 
white face undeniably Chinese, and behind whom 
appeared the crouching, shuffling figure of a Chinese 
servant. 

“Good heavens above!” It was Mr. Narkom who 
gave the exclamation as he rushed forward to get a 
better view of the newcomers, and then whirled 
upon Cleek and caught him by the arm, his whole 
face transfigured. “You miracle-worker! You 
amazing man! The Chinese prince himself, and 
alive, alive!” 

Cleek beckoned the little group forward until they 
came face to face with the two prisoners. Then he 


Cleek Intervenes 283 

took the sleeve of the young prince’s garment in his 
hands, and led him to Mrs. Verity. 

“May I introduce you?” he queried, with exquisite 
sarcasm. “Your invalid daughter, madam, cured, 
you see, and able at last to speak for herself! Gungha 
Dal, behold, for the last time upon this earth—the 
Amber Ship.” 

Then he lifted upward an inch or so the little 
chain which hung upon the young prince’s neck, and 
showed to the assembled company the sacred emblem 
which hung from the end of it—a little lump of cut 
amber wrought into the form of a ship, a Chinese 
junk, with rubies, emeralds, and diamonds inset, 
and the rippling ocean upon which it moved cut 
from one gorgeous, perfectly coloured sapphire: 
the Amber Ship itself. 


CHAPTER XXXIII 


THE TELLING OF THE TALE 
A ME a murmur of undisguised amazement 



over that crowded room, through which one 


could hear the constant, reiterated question, 
“Who is he? Who is he?” 

Cleek straightened the bandage upon his head 
with a wry smile, and stepped farther forward into 
the room. Then he fixed his eyes upon the doctor’s 
flushed, furious face. 

“You want to know who I am, and how I came to 
know all about your precious Balankha-Dahs, I 
suppose?” he queried. “Well, I’m going to tell 
you in a moment. Thought I didn’t know what the 
mark of Kali the Slayer was, didn’t you? Took 
you in there pretty well, I flatter myself. You’ve 
seen George Headland, the man to whom you gave 
a bottle of liver tonic, which was so full of poison 
that it would have killed five men instead of one— 
had I been fool enough to take it? You remember 
him, I’m sure. I just let Mr. Brentwood here have 
a peep at him a minute or two ago. Know who this 
is, eh? Remember firing that little shot at this 
chap while he was smoking his pipe on the stile? 


284 


285 


The Telling of the Tale 

Well, before I tell you, I’m going to ask just one 
question, and I want you to answer it. Why was it 
that you fired that shot, Mr. Gungha Dal, at what 
you didn’t know as anything but an innocent man?” 

“ Because I had overheard you talking to that 
other fellow—that boy who was with you at the 
time—and I knew you were on the track of the 
murder. I thought to get rid of you that way, the 
quickest and surest! You might as well know now, 
as the game is up, and you’ve nabbed me, damn 
you!” 

The doctor’s lowered tones were full of venomous 
fury. His lean fingers clenched and unclenched in 
the bracelets’ close clasp. His lithe figure trembled 
with frustrated desire to be at this man’s throat. 

“Yes, I’ve nabbed you and your precious sister 
quite successfully, and it was just that chance shot 
of yours to attempt to get rid of me that put me 
upon the track,” returned Cleek, with a little laugh. 
“If you hadn’t been so militant toward me, my dear 
doctor, I might never have unravelled the tangled 
threads of this astonishing case. And it was just 
that chance conversation of yours with Lady Brent¬ 
wood which told me that you two were related, and 
birds of a feather generally fly together, in my ex¬ 
perience. You gave yourself away quite nicely, 
too, once or twice, in spite of your attempts to lay 
the blame upon Mr. Frank Brentwood. Oh, yes, 
I’m sorry. But you’re trapped now, my brown 


286 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

beauty, and trapped once and for all. You want to 
know my name, do you? Well, it’s quite a short 
one. Just Cleek—Cleek of Scotland Yard, at your 
service.” 

He made his customary bow upon delivering this 
news to the others in that crowded dining room, but 
was hardly prepared for the consequences. Came a 
murmur of excitement in that crowded room. He 
heard his name pass from lip to lip, saw the crowd 
press forward for a better view of his face, then of a 
sudden the erstwhile doctor’s face went a purplish 
crimson. He gasped and swallowed, and gasped 
again, and then gave vent to feelings in a venomous, 
low-toned voice. 

“Cleek!” he said furiously. “Cleek, are you? 
Then no wonder, no wonder! Had I known that 
that devil incarnate was upon my track, I should 
have made sure of that bullet at all costs! Damn 
you!” 

“Well, I’m afraid you’re successfully damned, at 
any rate,” replied Cleek, with a shake of the head. 
“ Though I am obliged for all the full share of 
damning which you have given me. Constable, 
remove your prisoners, and clear the court room. 
And if just you, Lady Brentwood, and your son and 
this young lady here, Miss Ellison, who was having 
such a trying time when I happened to come in, 
will stay, we can settle the rest of the matter quietly 
between ourselves, and have it over and done with. 


287 


The Telling of the Tale 

Inspector Cogwell, set a chair for His Highness, will 
you? He’s been keeping to his bed this last few 
days, upon a diet of bread and water, and doesn’t 
feel any too strong.” 

But the Chinese servant, who proved to be no 
other than Ah Sing, was up before him and fairly 
tore the chair out of his hands, setting it with a low 
obeisance before his young master, and murmuring 
something in Chinese as he did so. 

Cleek turned to Mr. Narkom. “Calling a million 
blessings upon his honoured young master’s head,” 
he said, with a backward nod toward the kneeling 
man. “Poor devil! He’s had a thin time, too.” 

“But who gave you the crack upon the head, Cleek,. 
and is it a very bad one?” queried Mr. Narkom 
anxiously, while the room was clearing. 

“He did—Ah Sing. He was hiding in a cellar un¬ 
der a trap door in the Echo Tower of this very house. 
He had escaped from the clutches of Jim the Cracks¬ 
man. I’ll tell you all about it later on. But this 
poor chap thought, I suppose, that I was one of 
those who had brought about this disaster, and so 
took his chances with me. He was hungry, too* 
maddened with hunger and thirst. I’ve given him 
a jolly good feed since, along with the young prince. 
Hello, the room’s cleared. Now, ladies and gentle¬ 
men, if you will be seated, I’ll be as brief as possible* 
but I am afraid I must relate the whole story from 
the beginning, for the benefit of our friend Inspector 


288 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

Cogwell here, who has been very much in the dark 
about the whole affair from the outset.” 

Then he, too, seated himself, resting his head against 
his hand, while Dollops stood at his shoulder, ready 
at an instant to do his master’s bidding, and Mr. 
Narkom sat upon the other side. And so to the 
final unravelling of the riddle that had been called 
the Riddle of the Amber Ship. 

“To begin with,” said he quietly, “you all know, 
of course, of the young prince’s arrival with the ill- 
fated jewel of that sacred Chinese order to which his 
caste belongs hanging about his neck? I must 
admit that when Mr. Narkom told me of it and of 
the fact that it was coming to England under the 
guardianship of a mere youth of sixteen summers, I 
thought it perfect madness! Particularly as many 
of the priestcraft, both Hindoo and Chinese, would 
be watching for its arrival, the one to guard, the 
other to destroy.” 

“Then the Hindoo ones you speak of are those 
jaw-breakers whom you mentioned to me a day or 
so ago—the Balankha-Dahs?” asked the superin¬ 
tendent. 

“Right, Mr. Narkom. The Balankha-Dahs, 
whom I will begin by explaining away first of all, are 
a fanatical sect of priestcraft who are out for blood 
in the shape of every other religion and sect than 
their own. Looting of temples and churches be¬ 
comes a part of their plan, and this is carried out 


589 


The Telling of the Tale 

with diabolical success. Our English churches have 
not, as yet, been much worried by them, but the 
mere fact that a portion of the sect are meeting here 
in England—in Limehouse, to be exact—(a fact 
which I learnt a year or so back, when I was dealing 
with another Hindoo case)—points, I think, to the 
certainty that, unless stamped out, they will be turn¬ 
ing their attention to churches nearer home than 
the Far East.” 

“And they were after the Amber Ship, then?” 

Cleek nodded toward the questioner, who again 
was the superintendent, leaning forward, hands upon 
knees, whole face tense with interest in the telling 
of the tale. 

“Yes, that is it, Mr. Narkom. They were out for 
the Amber Ship, and no doubt had received word 
of when to expect its arrival, and upon whose person. 
So that they were waiting in readiness in the little 
village of Upminster. Gungha Dal had ingratiated 
himself beforehand into the hearts of the towns¬ 
people by his medical work, and his sister turned up 
with an invalid daughter who was mentally troubled, 
following after her brother so that he might keep an 
eye upon her. No one saw that daughter, though; 
no one was allowed so much as to set eyes upon her, 
and—until His Highness here fell into their clutches, 
no daughter had ever existed. But their orders 
• were to get hold of the Amber Ship, and doubtless 
to receive a huge sum of money for it from the 


290 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

priestcraft who employed them, and who would 
destroy it, along with other symbols of evil religions 
contrary to their own particular belief. That, I 
take it, was what they were after. That they failed 
was due simply to the bravery and quickness of 
thought of the young prince himself.” 

“And how was that, Mr. Cleek?” put in the 
coroner at this juncture. 

“I’ll be able to tell you later, Mr. Piperson. At 
present I am getting ahead of my story. Where was 
I, now? Oh, yes, at the telling of the Balankha- 
Dahs’ quest.” 

“And what made you think of them in the first 
place, Cleek?” ventured Mr. Narkom again. 

“Oh, simply because I spotted that sign of blood 
upon the forehead of the dead woman. That was 
the first hint of the case, the first unravelled thread. 
That roughly made sign, my friend, is called the 
mark of Kali the Slayer, and is the emblem of action 
belonging exclusively to the Balankha-Dahs. It is 
by that that they brand their crimes, the sacred 
symbol of the unknown god whom they have made 
their mentor.” 

“How abominably creepy!” 

“Quite so. Lady Brentwood. It is, as you say, 
creepy—to the last degree. I happened across that 
bit of information out East, many years ago, when I 
first heard of their operations. And since then, 
whenever I see that cabalistic sign I know that 


291 


The Telling of the Tale 

the Balankha-Dahs are about, and that there is 
some religious meaning attached to the murder. 
That poor woman who had masqueraded as Octavius 
Spender, the true Octavius Spender, bore it upon 
her forehead, and Jim the Cracksman as well. His 
Highness here would have borne it, too, if his own 
ingenuity hadn’t saved his skin and his treasure at 
the same time.” 

“And where do you think Jim the Cracksman came 
in, then?” 

“Why, he, too, was representing a gang of 
international jewel thieves, who would doubtless 
have delivered the precious jewel over into the 
hands of one of the priestcraft—either Hindoo or 
Chinese, whichever gave the highest bid for it. He 
hadn’t any scruples in the matter; one sect was as 
good as another. It was the money that counted. 
And it was Jim the Cracksman who originally killed 
the woman who had charge of the prince’s safety in 
her masquerade, killed her with a Malay kris, an 
implement which he has used more than once in 
similar crimes, eh, Mr. Narkom?” 

Mr. Narkom shot out of his seat at this juncture. 
“But, my dear chap,” he exploded excitedly, 
“haven’t you just convicted the doctor—who, 
heaven knows how you found out, was a Hindoo— 
for that murder, and his sister as accomplice? How, 
then, could Jim the Cracksman have a hand in it?” 

“Gently, Mr. Narkom. One step at a time, please. 


£9£ The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

And if you would only let me tell the story in my 
own fashion, and ask your questions afterward, I 
would be eternally grateful. In the first place, 
Gungha Dal came afterward, just when Jim the 
Cracksman had assassinated the person whom they 
believed to be Octavius Spender, whom he had 
concealed in the Echo Chamber, and who, in the 
darkness, doubtless looked as though he were asleep, 
while Jim himself had gone downstairs into the 
basement to fetch the little prince. The doctor’s 
fingernails and his clipped method of speech gave me 
the clue to his Eurasian birth; that was a simple 
matter. But when Gungha Dal saw old Spender 
lying there, he no doubt did not note in the semi¬ 
darkness that any one had dealt the death-blow 
and pressed cyanide of potassium between the 
parted lips. Then, bending down, he noted the 
wound in the dead woman’s side, and using her own 
life blood, traced the sign of Kali upon her forehead 
before descending to the basement to face Jim the 
Cracksman. Now, Your Highness, will you take up 
your share of the story? I’m beginning to feel a 
little weary, and my head’s splitting, though not so 
badly damaged, old friend”—this to the superin¬ 
tendent—“as your anxious face seems to suggest.” 

The little prince flushed, and then went suddenly 
pale. He spoke in his soft, perfect English, facing 
the astonished group with calm urbanity of bearing 
as one befitting his race and title. 


293 


The Telling of the Tale 

“Mr. Cleek has told you some of the story; I will 
tell you of what I, too, know,” he began. “In the 
first place, when I awoke from the drugged coffee 
which my servant here,” the man mentioned grov¬ 
elled instantly in the dust at his master’s feet, “ad¬ 
ministered in the hope that I would prove less— 
how does the honourable English gentleman say it?— 
less difficult of management in case of trouble over 
the Amber Ship, I found myself upstairs in a strange 
bedroom, with Ah Sing leaning over me, administer¬ 
ing to my comforts.” 

“Oh, honourable master!” wailed Ah Sing, in his 
native tongue. “I lie here in the dust at thy feet! 
Forgive thy slave for any unmannerly treatment 
he has given thee.” 

The young prince waved his hand. 

“Get up, boy. All is forgiven,” he said in a 
dignified manner which sat oddly upon one so young 
and so curiously costumed as he. “And help me to 
remove this garment, underneath which the honour¬ 
able company will perceive my own costume. That 
is much better,” as the boy, jumping up, unfastened 
the dressing gown and, slipping it off, showed the 
prince’s blue embroidered tunic, from which a little 
jagged edge of embroidery hung at the left side. 
“I will continue. Five minutes later, perhaps it 
might have been, perhaps ten, Mr. Spender himself 
entered the room, and spoke softly to me, asking if 
I had all I required. I assured him of this, declaring 


294 


The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

that I would soon disrobe and get into my bed for a 
night’s rest. Whereupon the honourable gentle¬ 
man withdrew. And a moment or two afterward 
I heard a lady screaming, jumped off my bed and 
rushed outside to the landing and down the stairs, 
where I was caught hold of by some cruel English¬ 
man disguised as one of my own race. He bore me 
downstairs to the cellars and hid me under a door 
which led underground, and which had been covered 
by a large wooden box. This, from the noise I 
heard, he must doubtless have pulled into place over 
me.” 

“You poor child!” Lady Brentwood exclaimed 
hastily, forgetting everything but that this boy was 
for the moment motherless, and had met with terrible 
dangers. The young prince smiled and bowed in her 
direction, making a deep obeisance. 

“Most honourable and lovely lady!” he continued 
in his curious English, “your kindness causes my 
heart many leaps. After that, I know not what 
happened. I heard my attacker leaving the cellar 
quickly, and waited in the terrible, smelling darkness 
for release. I heard, too, the sound of men’s foot¬ 
steps later, running down into the cellar and tramp¬ 
ing right over the secret door which hid me, but did 
not dare to shout out, unless these, too, be enemies 
come to kill.” 

“That was Hampden and myself searching the 
house for sign of someone, when we heard that wo- 


295 


The Telling of the Tale 

man’s scream,” Cleek broke in, with an emphatic nod 
of the head. “God knows how Jim the Cracksman 
knew of all these hiding places, though vermin of 
his kind are cognizant of everything where they 
mean to attack. He must have carried the body 
of his victim out into the Echo Chamber for the time 
being, and himself hidden there with it. Where 
Ah Sing was all this time, Mr. Narkom, he will tell 
you.” 

Ah Sing began throwing his hands over his head 
and rocking to and fro in his distress, showing 
nothing of the dignified bearing of his master. 

“Ah Sing bin caught, too, and taken to Echo 
Chamber all alongee bad man wot cotched little 
mastler!” he wailed out in a terrified voice. “Ah 
Sing bin clacked over head, and then pulled by pig¬ 
tail until he come to lifee again. Ah Sing’s head 
velly sore. Had to follow where bad man said. 
Hid in Echo Chamber with bad man and hon’able 
gentleman-lady’s departed spilit, until later. Then 
bad man creep away after long time, and Ah Sing 
pletend to die, and faint off, and bad man him give 
Ah Sing nasty kickee with boot, and say velly bad 
things and go away. Then Ah Sing him jump up 
and search and search and search, moving things to 
hiding places. No chance save little mastler then. 
Savee later. Then Ah Sing hear footsteps, and bad 
doctor-mans come into the room, so softly. Ah Sing 
pletend to be dead, and doctor-mans him put 


296 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

summink into hon’able gentleman-lady’s dead 
mouth, and then pick up poor Ah Sing and thlow 
him down little tlap-door under big boxee, for hiding, 
and push tlunk back again.” 

Poor Ah Sing! He began at this juncture to 
tremble, but Cleek spoke to him quietly. 

“And then what did you hear. Ah Sing? Tell 
the company, like a good boy.” 

“Ah Sing hear vloices, lady’s vloice, too. Little 
lady whom hon’able gentleman put wrist-snappers 
on.” He grinned fiendishly. “Ah Sing listen an’ 
listen. Yelly dark, velly cold, velly spilit-like, 
that little room under the tlap-door. No chance of 
escape, no chance of goin’. Ah Sing hears bad lady 
say she hide little mastler in her house. She laugh 
and laugh some more, wicked laughee makin’ no 
noisee! Bad spilit’s laughee, sirs. Then all go 
away, and Ah Sing don’t hear no more. Days pass. 
Ah Sing velly hungly; then hon’able gentleman 
and boy come, move boxee. Ah Sing jump out, 
hit hon’able gentleman on head, and then find him 
fliend. And tell him all he hears about little mastler. 
That all Ah Sing knows, hon’able gentlemen.” 

“And a good deal, too, Ah Sing. You’ve done 
very well,” replied Cleek, with a nod of approval 
as the man stopped speaking and knelt again at his 
master’s feet. “You helped more in this riddle 
than you know, and you shall be properly rewarded 
for it, never fear. For if it hadn’t been for you, we 


297 


The Telling of the Tale 

should never have found your master at all, or 
traced that part of the crime to its proper source. 
Now, Your Highness, if you will, please continue, 
and then I’ll take up the tale from my side of the 
question.” 

The boy nodded again, resting his hand gravely 
upon the bowed head of his faithful servitor. 

“After some time hidden in the evil-smelling hole 
where I had been placed,” said he quietly, “once 
more my enemy came to me, and fetched me out 
again, handling me roughly, and catching hold of 
the sacred jewel of my father’s order, tried to break 
the steel chain of it. This, however, he could not do. 
Then, maddened, he took out some instrument from 
his coat and cut it in halves. But the great god 
still protected me, for as the jewel of my fathers fell 
to the floor I pounced upon it and made to run 
away. My enemy caught hold of my tunic, and I 
heard the embroidery ripping, and then slipped the 
Amber Ship into an inner pocket for the moment, 
even as the door came open. Then another man, 
he who falsely called himself a doctor of the sick, 
entered the room. There was the sound of a shot, 
and my enemy fell dead to the floor.” 

“And then what happened?” Mr. Narkom could 
not restrain himself from uttering this question as the 
young prince paused. 

“Then, sir, the doctor laughed, and spoke softly 
to someone over his shoulder. I fell to the ground, 


£98 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

pretending to faint, and heard him say, ‘We will 
lock the youngster in for the present, and tackle him 
later. First to find old Spender himself.’ Then 
they went out, and I heard a key grate in the lock 
and knew I was a prisoner with my dead enemy. 
What to do? The sacred jewel of my fathers was 
obviously what these bad people wanted. Where 
to hide it? I stole over to my enemy’s dead body, 
and saw that his mouth was agape. Then the idea 
came to me. I pushed it down his throat until it 
became embedded in the gullet there, and then 
rushed away to the other side of the room and began 
to cry—as though my blood were water, and I was 
afraid of these evil-spirited people! I, a true 
follower of my father’s race and rank! But they 
believed me, and returned then, and took hold of 
me, demanding to know where my jewel was hid. 
I could not tell them, I would not! They twisted 
my wrists and beat me, but I would not tell; I pre¬ 
tended, indeed, to be dumb with fear, and at length 
told them that it had been stolen from me by my 
first enemy.” 

He sighed deeply. “They did not, of course, 
believe me, sirs. But they dared not do me to death 
until they knew where my jewel was hid, and so, 
leaving me to the woman’s care, the man lifted the 
body of my enemy and pushed it behind some boxes 
piled up in a corner of the filthy place. I noted 
where they hid it, knowing full well that my jewel 


299 


The Telling of the Tale 

would be safe from discovery there, and then they 
took me away, and dressed me as a woman-child, 
and under torture tried to get the hiding place of 
my jewel from me.” 

“And you never told?” It was Lady Brentwood 
who spoke; Lady Brentwood, with her eyes full of 
tears. The young prince smiled at her. 

“No, I never told. Son of my father, I could 
never tell even though I died for it. Till at length 
this honourable gentleman here, with his servitor,” 
he nodded toward Dollops, “and Ah Sing appeared 
this very morning before meal time, of which I was 
permitted very little, as you may imagine, by my 
tormentors, and set me free at last, taking me back 
to their house and giving my servant and me much 
food and rest, to prepare us for this present telling of 
the story. Sir, I have finished.” 


CHAPTER XXXIV 


JOURNEY S END 


\T> about time, too,” said Cleek with a 



kindly smile, as he reached over toward the 


^ young prince, and patted his hand. “You’ve 
done well, Prince, and upheld the pride of your 
father’s race in deed and word. He will be proud 
of you, I know, when news reaches him. But I 
want you to let us take your jewel from you for the 
present, and place it under safe custody, until it may 
be again returned to your father’s house. After 
all you have been through, you will agree, I feel 


sure? : 


His Highness bowed. There was a sadness in 
his face, however, which betokened the disappointed 
boy under the shell of the dignified prince. “It 
shall be as you will,” he replied gravely. 

“Splendid! Now there’s not much more to tell. 
When Dollops and I came this morning, Inspector, 
under the disguises by which you had previously 
known us, to investigate still further in the Echo 
Chamber, we discovered still one more dead body— 
that of a half-naked Chinese. Who it was I do not 
know, but I rather imagine it must have been Mr. 


300 



“Journey’s End- 


301 


?5 


Spender’s boy, killed; doubtless shot—I swore I 
heard a shot when we first came up here, but the 
chauffeur declared it was an explosion in the engine 
of the car—by Jim the Cracksman, whose clothes he 
put on, taking the boy’s place. You must identify 
the body for me, for you are the only one among us 
who knows just what the boy looked like.” 

“I shall be only too pleased, Mr. Cleek,” threw in 
the inspector, a new deference in his tone. 44 Shall 
I go with you now?” 

44 I’m coming, too, old chap!” 

44 And I!”—from the coroner, who jumped quickly 
to his feet. But Frank Brentwood preferred to sit 
still by his mother and his sweetheart, having had his 
fill of horrors for the time being. 

Cleek got to his feet. 44 All right, you bloodthirsty 
individuals! And Dollops, of course? I thought 
so. Prince, why do not you and your servant go 
through into the study and rest there? The house 
is surrounded by police, so that you are perfectly 
safe, and if you will give me the jewel for the present, 
it will be off your mind.” 

Silently the young prince handed it across to Cleek, 
who was touched by the trust thus placed in him 
and squeezed the boy’s hand affectionately. 

44 I’ll guard it with my very life!” he said softly, 
and waited until the boy withdrew, his faithful Ah 
Sing behind him, bowing, to each of the ladies in 
turn, a deep, reverential obeisance. Then Cleek 



302 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

and his followers, too, left the room. Five minutes 
later they returned. 

“It was the boy!” said Cleek, as Frank Brent¬ 
wood sprang to his feet, a question on his lips. 
“And the last thread of the tangled skein is un¬ 
ravelled at last! This has been a hot day’s work! 
Ladies, I think you might retire. You must be fa¬ 
tigued with listening to this sordid tale of ill deeds 
and evil intents. But first of all, Lady Brentwood, 
may I tell you a jealously guarded secret—now, when 
there should surely be no reason for guarding it any 
more? Doctor Hunter knew it, and held it over Miss 
Ellison’s head as a threat to gain her forced admira¬ 
tion. That has been what frightened her so, the prob¬ 
ability of your and Sir George’s displeasure. No, Miss 
Ellison, have no fear. The psychological moment has 
arrived. In very thankfulness for her son’s exonera¬ 
tion, Lady Brentwood will understand, and be glad.” 

“Glad of what, Mr. Cleek?” 

Cleek smiled, and looked at the lovers, standing to¬ 
gether, very red of face and self-conscious of ex¬ 
pression. “Why,” said he merrily, “the fact that 
these two youngsters here are married, and have been 
married for a matter of three weeks or more. I 
must admit that at first I suspected them of com¬ 
plicity in this matter, until, in the fulfilment of a 
policeman’s rather objectionable duties, I inter¬ 
cepted a letter from your son to his wife, and read 
the truth in it. You remember that morning, Mr. 


“Journey’s End- 


99 


SOS 


Narkom, when Betsy gave me the letters? There 
were four to be re-addressed to Mr. Brentwood 
here, and one for Miss Beverley. That one proved 
to be exactly what she said it was: a letter from her 
jeweller’s about the safe receipt of a gold watch and 
one or two valuable rings which had lately been left 
her by a deceased aunt. Now, Lady Brentwood, 
your understanding and forgiveness for these two 
young people, please!” 

Her ladyship’s eyes had flared open at this startling 
announcement, and she made as if to speak, and could 
not. Then, of a sudden, she gave a little choked 
laugh, close kin to a sob, and held out her hands to 
Maud Ellison. 

“My dear, my dear!” said Lady Brentwood 
brokenly, looking at each in turn. “That you should 
have done it, have wanted to do it so much, I never 
knew! I never even guessed! But I will promise 
to make it all right with your father, Frank, if you 
will promise, in return, to apologize to him, and try 
to follow in his footsteps and give up horses and 
betting from now on.” 

“He’s promised that already, to me, dearest Lady 
Brentwood,” put in Maud softly, with an April 
smile. “And I shall stand beside him, always, until 
the end. Together, we should be strong enough, 
when temptation comes, to face it bravely. If you 
will only forgive, and be kind to us!” 

Her ladyship wiped her eyes. “All is forgiven, my 



304 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

dear child, and Frank is fortunate to have found 
such a good wife, who will steady him in his wild 
ways, I know. Come, let us go home now. I am 
weary, oh, so weary—and—and I feel as though I 
only wanted to rest.” 

“Yes, go, by all means, your ladyship. Dollops 
here will run and fetch your car for you, if you will 
wait for a moment. But I should like to borrow 
your son for fifteen minutes longer, if I may. There 
are some things I wanted to say.” 

Lady Brentwood whirled suddenly, put a hand to 
her mouth, started forward, stepped back, and then 
rushed over to Cleek and laid a frightened hand 
upon his arm. 

“That little white packet—you want to ask him 
about that?” she said softly, with a frightened, 
piteous glance. 

Cleek shook his head. His eyes were very kind. 

“I knew,” he said significantly, in a lowered voice, 
“many things. Of your visit, for instance, to the 
House on the Hill that fatal night, after the drug 
which you thought so necessary. Of your interview 
with Mr. Spender—or the supposed Mr. Spender— 
who doubtless knew nothing of what you said, and 
put you off for a day or two until her brother should 
have returned.” 

“Yes, yes! That is exactly what happened. Who 
told you I saw him, though, or that I went up to the 
House at all? Who told you that?” 


“Journey's End- 


305 


>> 


“No one that matters. And I happened to see 
the dress your erstwhile lady’s-maid was brushing 
for you, Lady Brentwood. And, by the way, be¬ 
fore you go, here’s a little toy which belongs to you, 
I think. I found it in your bureau drawer that 
day when Cook let me clean the windows for 
her. You remember Ole Tom, the pedler, whom 
you saw this morning sitting in the sunshine outside 
your kitchen door? Well, I am he. But I wish, 
with your permission, that I might throw this little 
revolver into the river. It’s safer there. And, 
funny thing,” his voice lifted casually, “there’s one 
chamber empty.” 

i Lady Brentwood’s pale face flushed. 

“Yes,” she said in her soft, low-pitched voice. 
“My husband used it to kill a favourite spaniel of 
mine that had been caught in one of the keeper’s 
traps. It broke my heart to lose her, she was such a 
good friend, and I made him use my own little re¬ 
volver which he had given me when we were first 
married. It had never before been used at all, and 
I told him it would never be used again. Get rid 
of it how and where you like, Mr. Cleek. God 
knows it might have proved fatal evidence against 
me if you had not been upon the case and traced 
the tragedy to its true source. How can I ever 
thank you?” 

Cleek smiled. Then he reached out and laid a 
quiet hand upon her arm. 



306 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

“Don’t thank me. Only permit me the familiar¬ 
ity of a little word. Just one, as a friend. Learn 
to fight it. Fight, with all your might and main, to 
the bitter end. The doctors nowadays can give 
enormous help; I’ll let you have the address of a 
chap I know in Harley Street who works wonders. 
And every day science is making more marvellous 
discoveries. So be brave, and learn to fight, even as 
your son must fight for other things. You will, 
won’t you?” 

She looked up into his face suddenly with swim¬ 
ming eyes. “I will fight, you wonderful man. I 
will,” she answered softly, returning the pressure 
of his hand. “Good-bye. And God bless you for 
all you have done for me and mine. It is a debt 
I can never repay.” 

Cleek smiled and opened the door for her and 
Maud Ellison. Then he closed it softly behind them 
and turned to Brentwood with a smile. 

“Shake hands,” said he, “upon the beginning of 
a newer, happier life. There go two women in 
a thousand, and both belong to you.” 

Brentwood’s face flushed as he took Cleek’s hand. 

“I heard what you said to her; I heard what you 
said to Mother!” he said excitedly. “It’s cancer, you 
know. No hope, no hope at all, and morphine is the 
only thing that can bring her any relief.” 

“Cancer, eh? I’m sorry for that. What a fight 
she will have, then, what a fight!” returned Cleek 


“Journey’s End 


5? 


307 


quietly. “My sympathy goes with you, Mr. Brent¬ 
wood, for mothers are such precious things! Only 
help her to fight it to the bitter end. For the drug 
will kill quicker even than the disease itself. Just 
tell me one or two things, will you? Who was it 
that obtained the drug for her?” 

Brentwood coloured suddenly, then he bit his lips 
a moment. “I did,” he said at last. 

“I see. From Mr. Spender?” 

“Good God! How did you find that out, sir? 
Yes, from old Spender himself. That was why I 
was talking to him in the drive that day when the 
doctor drove by and listened. But I never said 
what he declared I did, Mr. Cleek, I’ll swear to that. 
But I was begging him for some for Mother, and he 
told me he had none down at present.” 

“ I see. And your—wife used to obtain it from you 
for her, then?” 

“Yes, she was coming for some that night she was 
intercepted in the lane and lost her needle,” said 
Brentwood eagerly, anxious to clear up his share in 
the matter. “Mother had already been up to the 
Spender place and seen the old man and begged 
him for some. She was nearly mad with pain that 
night. But how the dickens could you have found 
out Maud and I were married, Mr. Cleek, when 
no one else knew? You mentioned a letter?” 

Cleek put his hand into his pocket and drew out a 
paper and handed it to him. 





308 


The Riddle of the Amber Skip 

44 A letter, and this. Your marriage certificate, 5 ’ he 
said serenely. “Very careless to leave it lying about 
where prying fingers can steal it, you know. I found 
it in Gungha Dal’s desk drawer when I called there 
the other day for a bottle of medicine. He must 
have stolen it from the Manor House. And it was 
that which he held as a sort of threat over your 
wife’s head. If she did not allow his attentions, 
well, then he would go with it to the squire, your 
father, and she would be dismissed instantly, and 
her character falsified, no doubt, to such a degree 
that she would never be able to obtain a position 
anywhere else. Put it under lock and key safely, 
young man. And don’t be tempted to get any more 
poison such as this,” he lifted the little packet of 
cyanide up and tossed it in his fingers for a second, 
“even when your mother begs you to! That’s a 
man’s job, to stand strong and firm for principle 
against temptation. Try and remember that.” 

“Where did you find it?” Brentwood barely spoke 
the words, his voice was so low, his breath came so 
rapidly. 

“In your drawer. I cleaned the windows up at 
the Manor some time back, and got a shilling and a 
cup of tea from your worthy Cook in return. And 
that little packet very nearly cost you your freedom, 
if things hadn’t come to light as they did. Tell me 
how you got it.” 

“I got it for Mother,” he replied brokenly. 44 She 


“ Journey's End- 


309 


5 J 


suffered so, and begged me to get her poison, until 
she nearly drove me mad with the constant request. 
At last I got it, to pacify her. Maud found out, 
and was furious with me. We had a real row, then 
it disappeared. Hunter was the chap who supplied 
it to me, and it cost me something, I promise you, 
to go to him for it at all. He, of course, knew all 
about it.” 

“Ah! Then that was the telephone conversa¬ 
tion I intercepted that morning from your wife,” 
put in Cleek at this juncture. “I must admit that 
it got me guessing. I didn’t just know what to 
make of it. She’ll tell you about it if you ask her. 
But you were rather foolish to go to your rival for a 
deadly thing like that, my friend. He might easily, 
with that evidence, have got you to the gallows. 
Probably would have, if I hadn’t intervened. And, 
by the way, I suppose you went after your mother 
to the House on the Hill that fatal night? And 
peeped in at the study window first to see if she was 
there? Ah, I thought so, by the clay on your boots. 
And she’d gone, eh? So you didn’t go in. Well, 
now, get back to your mother and your wife, and, 
if I may put in a word of advice as an older man— 
run straight. It’s better, and cheaper, in the long 
run.” 

Then he bade Brentwood good-bye, and turned at 
last to Mr. Narkom and the coroner, who were 
standing together at the other side of the room 



310 


The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

conversing in low tones. Dollops watched his 
master’s pale face with anxious eyes. He knew 
how badly he needed a rest, and thanked fortune 
that the case was nearly at an end now. 

“Well, old friend,” said Cleek wearily, dropping 
into a chair and putting his hand to his aching fore¬ 
head, “that’s the end of that! I’ve served you well, 
I hope?” 

“You’ve served me magnificently!” returned the 
superintendent in a choked voice as he looked down 
into the pale face of his famous ally. “Gad, Cleek, 
you’re a marvel! To have found the prince and the 
jewel!” 

“And the secret of that dope-dumping which has 
gone on for such a long time, and has been puzzling 
you. That, too, old friend,” returned Cleek with a 
quick, triumphant smile. “That’s interested you, 
has it? I thought it would! I’ve a little book here, 
the diary of the true Octavius Spender, who carried 
on drug-trafficking up at that second-hand bookshop 
of his, and hid the stuff between the covers of his 
books. This tells the whole thing from beginning 
to end. It will make you good reading, and give 
you all the necessary data to go upon.” 

“Good heavens above!” 

“Yes, it is rather startling, isn’t it? It tells the 
whole story of how his twin sister Octavia, whose 
shop it originally was, and who conducted it quite 
innocently, knowing nothing of her brother’s ne- 


“Journey’s End 


311 


farious plans, used to change places with him, when 
he came to London on one of his regular drug de¬ 
bauches—he seems to have been an inveterate dope 
fiend, poor devil!—while she came down here, and 
wore his clothes, and took his place to avoid suspi¬ 
cion. Must have been one of those women who 
masqueraded as a man always, because the local 
shopkeepers in the Edgware Road had never known 
her as other than what she appeared to be. That’s 
what made the thing so difficult to discover. There 
have been such cases. A pair of eccentrics, both of 
’em. And doubtless, with the drug-trafficking be¬ 
ing carried on, old Spender got into the clutches of 
Jim the Cracksman—that seems to be what the diary 
hints at, anyway. He obtained information from 
him relative to the arrival of the Amber Ship and its 
illustrious young master, and so was able to lay his 
plans accordingly. For in defending the trust im¬ 
posed upon him by the prince’s father, poor old 
Spender, drug-fiend and dishonoured, eventually 
met his death. That last page of the diary poign¬ 
antly tells the story. He must have been writing 
it when the assassin stole in upon him, and that 
assassin proved to be a Chinese laundryman, whom 
Dollops and I spotted last night stealing back to the 
haunts of his crime, as tradition says all criminals 
eventually do. Jackson, the chap I put on duty, 
pinched him, so he phoned me this morning, and the 
beggar confessed to being in the pay of Jim the 



312 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

Cracksman, who had promised him £20 for the 
job.” 

“What an intricate web you’ve unravelled!” 
Mr. Narkom’s voice was filled with admiration for 
his indefatigable ally. “You don’t think Spender 
was directly involved in the attempted robbery, 
then?” 

“No, not for one moment. If he had been, he 
would never have left things to go on under his sis¬ 
ter’s care, as he did, but have been on the spot him¬ 
self. No, dear chap, I think old Spender was as 
innocent as any drug fiend could be. He felt his 
debt of honour to the prince’s father keenly. And 
he meant to take good care of the lad. There was 
a certain spinal weakness, I believe, in its veriest 
infancy in the boy, which Spender had promised 
to watch over and have medical treatment for, and 
there is a list of celebrated masseurs for this purpose 
pinned inside one of the pages of the book. No, he 
took his task seriously, and there is enclosed, also, 
a carefully worked-out list of expenses, inscribed as a 
copy, the original having been sent to the prince’s 
father, which, from all details, seems perfectly reason¬ 
able and above-board.” 

“ H’m. Then it doesn’t seem as though he had had 
much to do with it, poor old chap,” threw in the 
coroner meditatively. “But the odd thing to me is 
that the governor didn’t get your people to look 
into the status of the old gentleman first.” 


“Journey’s End- 


313 


J5 


“Yes, but that’s typically Chinese, Mr. Piperson. 
Their honour, and that of their friends, is unques¬ 
tionable. Old Spender had visited there some ten 
years ago, as a guest of the governor, and had 
cemented the friendship made those many years be¬ 
fore, when he had lived in the province and the 
governor had rendered him some valuable assis¬ 
tance. It is just that quality of honour in the 
Chinese nature which sometimes puts our Western 
temperament to shame by the immensity of it. 
That this father, however, was rather doting on his 
only son is proved by the way in which he permitted 
the boy to travel according to his own wishes, with 
practically no private retinue other than that group 
of legation officials who accompanied him as far as 
London, and then left him in the hands of Scotland 
Yard, according to previous arrangements. Ah 
Sing, his own personal boy, was the only private 
bodyguard he possessed, and the carrying of all 
those jewels, as well as the sacred symbol, the 
Amber Ship, seems veritable madness!” 

“It does, indeed. And what do you suggest doing 
with the lad now?” 

Cleek stroked his chin with one finger and stared out 
through the window of the dining room across the 
wild waste of garden in its tangle of shrub and early 
bloom. Then he turned abruptly to Mr. Narkom. 

“Send word to the Chinese ambassador himself, 
and get him to take the lad in charge; that’s my 



314 


The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

suggestion,” he said briskly. “This whole affair 
has been left too much to chance! If Scotland Yard 
had had a hand in it from the very beginning, and 
had made arrangements with the legation in London 
to take charge of the boy first, things would probably 
have shaped themselves differently and a lot of 
innocent blood left unshed. But Mr. Narkom here 
was up to the eyes in another problem—the problem 
of the drug-trafficking which was driving the Yard 
nearly crazy. It was taking place right under their 
very noses, too, with the Chinamen coming along 
for books from the second-hand shop, and using 
the leaves which had been inserted, or doubtless 
taking unharmed books and returning them full 
according to the secret arrangements made by old 
Spender with the gang. That was what bothered 
the superintendent half out of his wits, Mr. Piper- 
son, until at last he sent for me and I appeared 
upon the scene and very nearly made a big bloomer 
myself by leaving the lad at the House on the Hill, 
after seeing the credentials presented to me by Miss 
Octavia Spender in the absence of her twin brother. 
If it hadn’t been for that supposedly Chinese boy 
with the navvy’s hands, I’d never have smelt a 
rat at all.” 

“And he, Jim the Cracksman, must have been at 
work before you arrived, and accounted for that poor 
boy out there in the next room whom you and 
Dollops discovered in the trunk, then, Cleek?” 


“Journey’s End 


31 5 


97 


“Yes, doubtless. He opened the door to me, and 
to Miss Spender when she arrived, and had been 
at his nefarious and beastly business during that 
period when we couldn’t get into the house in the 
first place, and couldn’t see a light in it either. He 
was possibly haunting the Echo Tower just then, and 
didn’t hear our arrival, as he was trying to dispose 
of the boy’s body. 

“Heigho! That’s the end of that, I think, and 
the holiday I had promised myself fully justified in 
taking. Here, let’s put this jewel into the local 
bank for the present, Mr. Narkom. I’m fairly itching 
to get word through to London to learn if they have 
got Margot or not. They landed the rest of the 
gang, Petrie phoned me this morning early, but 
Margot, at the time, was nowhere to be found. I’d 
give all I possess to get her to justice.” 

Mr. Narkom nodded vigorously. 

“Cinnamon! And wouldn’t I, the hell-cat! Her 
share in the affair, I suppose, was simply through the 
Balankha-Dahs, though they also employed the 
doctor, didn’t they?” 

“Yes, but traded upon the old saying, ‘Set a thief 
to catch a thief.’ They didn’t mind who landed 
the jewel so long as it was landed. And Margot 
doubtless entered the lists, naming her own sum 
and declaring she would get the jewel, if she bar¬ 
gained with the devil himself! Margot has a way 
with her, as you know well, Mr. Narkom. We’ve 



316 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

had proof of that before. Now I wonder if they 
have got her at last! Dollops, just nip round to 
the post office and phone through to headquarters, 
and, using the code, of course, find out if she’s been 
nabbed or not. It would be the best night’s work 
you or I had ever done, to bring that creature to 
English justice at last.” 

“Righto, sir! You’d oughter be lyin’ down, wiv 
that crack on yer knob, sir, instead of gassing ’ere 
all day,” broke in Dollops, with a fond, anxious look 
into Cleek’s face. 

Cleek smiled affectionately at him. “All right, 
all right. When I’ve got this jewel off my chest. 
Look here, Mr. Narkom, we’ll go to the bank now, 
and get rid of the thing. It’s burning a hole in my 
waistcoat. Mr. Piperson, can I leave you to see 
that the young prince is well looked after until we re¬ 
turn? I’ve no fancy to be walking through the town 
alone with this priceless possession. And we must 
send word at once to His Excellency, the Governor 
of Kwang-Tin, of his son’s safety. If you’d stay on 
guard here with the inspector, just until we return, 
it would help enormously.” 

“Certainly, certainly, my dear Mr. Cleek!” The 
coroner was affably delighted to be able to take some 
part in the proceedings at this juncture. “And I 
advise you to call in at the Three Sisters and have a 
glass of something before you go much further. 
You’re looking done up, I must say.” 


“Journey's End- 


317 




“A good suggestion. Well, good-bye for the 
present. Come along, Mr. Narkc n, well be making 
tracks as quickly as possible.” 

Then, arm in arm, the two frien/s sauntered out 
into the sunshine and down the v”lage street to 
where the little bank stood opposite vhe post office, 
and there deposited their precious burden in the safe, 
until such time as they could send recogi ized officials 
down from Scotland Yard to bear it London ward 
before it travelled back again to China, to the 
home of the young prince’s ancestors and the safety 
of a jealously guarded palace. From there it was 
never again to emerge into the light of day unless 
upon the person of the governor himself. 

Dollops joined them a second or two later when, 
business completed and the Amber Ship under lock 
and key at last, Cleek and Mr. Narkom stepped out 
once more into the village street. The lad’s face 
was glum, but a spark of merriment showed in his eye. 

“Well?” rapped out Cleek on sight of it. “What 
news, boy?” 

“None, sir. She’s bin and gorn and’ooked it some- 
wheres. Gorn, clean gorn, Petrie says, but, sir, 
I—I ’ope as yer won’t be cross, but—but ” 

His voice trailed off into silence, and he stood a 
moment drawing patterns in the dust with the toe of 
his boot and looking the very picture of abject misery. 

Cleek’s brows went up, and then came down 


again. 



318 The Riddle of the Amber Ship 

“Hello! Hello!” he said briskly. “What have 
you been up to, Dollops, that you look like a pick¬ 
pocket? Margot’s free, bad luck to her, but it’s 
too late now to grieve. What deeds has your 
young ambitious soul performed while you’ve been 
on the phone? Out with it, quick!” 

Dollops looked up, blushing, into his master’s face. 
Then he swung round to the superintendent and 
caught him by the arm. 

“Mr. Narkom ’ere’ll stand by me, sir, if you loses 
of yer wig and cuts me off wiv a blinkin’ tanner, and 
casts me out upon a crool world wot doesn’t love me,” 
he gave out in a scared voice, with the ghost of a 
smile in it. “Mr. Narkom’ll stand by me, I know. 
Well, sir, I—I phoned Miss Lome, and found she’s 
back in town. I tole her of yer crack on the top- 
knot, and that yer lookin’ like a bit er larst year’s 
cheese. And she’s a-comin’ dahn ’ere straightaway 
ter fetch you ’ome again, for a ’ollerday on the 
river! And now, do yer worst. Guv’nor, sir, and 
’ave done wiv it, afore she comes. ’Er train’s a- 
leavin’ in five minutes, and she says positive that 
you must rest until she’s ’ere!” 

For a moment Cleek stood there in the sunshine, 
blinking his eyes under the crazy bandage like a 
man who has had a glimpse of Heaven itself and was 
blinded with the glory of it. Ailsa Lome in London 
again and coming down here for him! His Ailsa 
coming to fetch him away from all this crime and 


“Journey’s End- 


319 


99 


sordid horror and endless pursual of justice which 
made up his life and would make it up for several 
years to come! Ailsa coming here? 

“Dollops,” said he in a shaking, glad voice, 
linking his arm in the boy’s, and then turning 
round to include Mr. Narkom, who stood beaming 
and smiling like a fat Chinese idol a foot or two 
away from them—“Dollops, and you, too, old 
friend, if you’re not a pair of hoodwinking old 
matchmakers, the pair of you! I’ll dare swear you 
had a hand in that phone call, too, Mr. Narkom, for 
all your innocent face! Aha! I thought as much!” 

Then, as they moved along the empty village 
street together, arms linked, Cleek lifted his head 
and set his eyes upon the heavens, and called upon 
God to witness that never had man had such good 
friends as he. 


THE END 












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